


He Ain't Heavy

by LadyWallace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Broken Castiel, Caring Sam, Cas has PTSD, Cas tries to deal but can't, Dean is emotionally constipated, Episode AU 11x3, Episode: s11e03 The Bad Seed, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Gen, Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Nightmares, No Slash, Overcoming Issues, Post Mark of Cain Dean has issues, Sam is a Good Brother, Sam is the stable one, Season 11 Fix-It, Season 11 au, Team Free Will, The boys actually care about Cas, dean has ptsd, eventual caring Dean, family/friendship feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 12:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: Post 11x3 Cas may not be under Rowena’s spell anymore, but Sam and Dean can tell he still isn’t okay. Unfortunately, in trying to help the angel, Dean realizes just how not okay he is in the aftereffects of the Mark’s removal. Sam just wants to get both of his brothers through this. S11 Fix it. No Slash





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set right after 11x4 "Baby"

Castiel sat with his back against the door to the bunker, trying to calm the trembling in his hand that he hadn't been able to stop for what seemed like hours. He looked down at it, the slightly bruised knuckles—the only thing that hadn't healed yet as if taunting him, and the appendage only trembled all the more. Images flashed behind his eyes every time he closed them of his fist slamming into Dean's face, throwing his friend around the warehouse. The violence, the fact that he only recognized Dean as a threat and nothing more. He hadn't been himself and it had scared him.

And then Dean hadn't let him heal the injuries, even though the hunter walked stiffly, and one side of his face was completely swollen—the bruises still visible even now after a week. Castiel wondered vaguely if his own bruised knuckles hadn't healed either in some subconscious show of guilt.

He knew it hadn't been Dean's intention to cause Castiel more pain by choosing not to let the angel heal him, but now Cas had to see what he had done every time he looked at Dean. Castiel knew the truth of why Dean had refused healing; that he thought he had deserved it, that he thought, maybe, they were even now… Castiel's eyes darted toward the library where Dean had nearly killed him not so long ago and swiftly looked away. He raised his trembling hand to his mouth and bit down hard on his knuckle to stop the shaking, closing his eyes.

It was not that simple. He wished it was. He certainly didn't blame Dean for what he had done under the influence of the Mark, especially now when he had felt something so similar from that spell Rowena had cast on him, but now he couldn't rest without thinking of everything he had done under the influence of the spell, what he had wanted to do. It could have been so much worse and that was what scared him most. His grace, even returned to him, was weak, only partly there, and that was the main reason the spell had been able to affect him so badly. It probably wouldn't do much, if anything, to a full-powered angel. The fact that this had been able to happen to him now, made Castiel realize that perhaps he was only a danger to the Winchesters. That it might be best he leave, even though he had nowhere else to go.

But therein lay another problem. Castiel couldn't leave the bunker.

He had tried. Sam and Dean had left for a case two days ago, telling him he should stay and rest up. He'd done a little research when Dean called him, but once he had finished with that he had been planning on leaving. Partly it had been to hunt Metatron down and see if the former Scribe could answer any questions they had about the Darkness, but the other part was that he didn't want to endanger Sam and Dean again. The spell might be gone, but what else could happen to him that could potentially cause harm to his friends? After everything, he couldn't bear to risk it.

So he had tried to leave, but he just… couldn't. He didn't know how else to describe it. He had climbed purposefully up the stairs to the door, but the second his hand fell on the latch, he froze. He stayed that way for a long time, but couldn't make himself open the door. The more he thought about it, the more he started shaking, his breathing ragged, and his sight darkening around the corners. He had no idea what was happening to him. Was it another spell? Was it some strange side-effect of the attack dog hex? He didn't know, but eventually, he couldn't even stand to think about going outside as images of himself beating Dean into the floor of that warehouse flashed behind his eyes and he simply sank to the floor, and sat down against the door, trembling and pulling his knees up to his chest.

And that was where he still sat, not knowing how much time had passed, as he finally managed to get control of his breathing again. His head ached dully and he felt vaguely sick to his stomach with all the emotions gnawing at him. Sam and Dean were right. He probably just needed some more rest; still weak from the spell. He pulled himself to his feet and decided to go back down the stairs now that he could make his body move again, and felt better with each step he took, even if his body was still a little shaky.

It was only when he got to the bottom that he felt shame wash over him for his cowardice. How could he not do something so simple as step outside? But another part of him, the part that was very tired and sick and in pain that had little to do with his physical form, told him it was okay—he didn't have to do it if he didn't want to. After all, no one really expected him to be anything but a coward and a screw-up.

He shuffled into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea before he looked down the hallway to the dormitory ward. He had taken Sam and Dean's advice last night and watched "Netflix" surprised when it took his mind off things for a little while. Perhaps he would do that again. Sam and Dean weren't home yet, so he wouldn't bother anyone with it, after all.

He took his tea to Sam's room and turned on the TV, finding the right setting to get to Netflix. Then he sat up in the middle of Sam's bed and lost himself for several hours in television dramas until he eventually dozed off.

~~~~~~~~

Sam and Dean both groaned as they hauled themselves out of the Impala, back in the bunker's garage. Baby looked just as worse for wear as the two of them and Dean stroked a hand over her roof.

"I'll patch you up soon, Baby, don't worry. We'll be taking a few days off after that hunt."

Sam grunted in agreement as he leaned against the side of the car until Dean came around and offered him a shoulder to lean on. Not that Dean was in any better shape, but at least he hadn't had his leg screwed up by Ghoulpires so he could still walk. Mostly.

He shoved open the garage door, instant relief washing over him at the familiar feel of the bunker.

"Hey, Cas!" he called, wondering where the angel was. "We're back!"

He hauled Sam over to the map table and helped him sit in one of the chairs, turning around as footsteps sounded behind him.

"Sam, Dean?" Cas called as he shuffled into the room in sock feet. Dean narrowed his eyes at the angel, who looked a little rough—and that was being generous. He had forgone his coat and tie, wearing only his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his trousers just as rumpled and creased as his shirt. His hair was mussed and his eyes were slightly red and puffy, looking very un-angelic all around. But then, Cas was still recovering from the spell, so he was allowed to look like he hadn't slept for a week.

"Are you alright? What happened?" Cas asked then, breaking through Dean's musings, as he fully took stock of the Winchesters' appearance and hurried over to them.

"The Ghoulpires," Dean said, ignoring the bitchface Sam shot him at his nickname. "They weren't very happy."

"Here, let me heal you," Cas said, already stepping forward, hand outstretched.

"Only if you can, Cas," Sam said quickly, holding up a hand, and Dean shot him a frown, before looking back toward Cas. Sure, the angel looked pretty bad, but he still had his mojo, right?

"Sam it's no trouble, I can tell your injuries aren't exactly superficial," Cas said. "It will keep you from an uncomfortable recovery. Please." There was a strange note of pleading in his voice that made Dean frown slightly, wondering what this was about. Hopefully not because Dean had refused to let Cas heal him after their bout in the warehouse. He was sure Cas understood his reasoning behind that. Didn't he? Dean bit his lip as his eyes went to the library and his hand instinctively wrapped around the spot on his arm where the Mark had been. He wasn't going to forget that one anytime soon.

Sam grunted and brought Dean out of his dark thoughts and he turned to see Cas press two fingers to Sam's head, the wounds sluggishly disappearing. It seemed slower than normal, but when Cas pulled away, Sam was completely healed and he smiled gratefully up at Cas, as he stood, testing previously bruised limbs.

"Thanks, Cas, I appreciate it."

Cas nodded before he turned to Dean with some hesitation. "Dean, let me heal you as well."

Dean was about to protest, afraid that Cas might expend too much of his batteries when they still weren't charged all the way, but Sam gave him a look, and Dean finally sighed and nodded. "Fine."

He closed his eyes as Cas touched his forehead and winced as he felt his injuries knit back together more slowly than usual. He heard a slight exhalation of breath from Cas as he finished, and opened his eyes to see the angel sagging slightly.

"Cas?" Dean reached a tentative hand out to the angel, but Cas started away the instant he touched his shoulder. Dean pulled back as if stung, and Cas' look of fear turned sheepish. Dean swallowed hard. Okay, so Cas obviously hadn't forgotten the scene in the library either. It wasn't like Dean deserved any different.

"You good?" he asked after a long second.

Cas nodded. "Yes. Just a little tired. Sorry."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, me too. But, uh, thanks for healing us. How about we get some food okay? I think I've got burger meat in the bridge. Sammy?"

"I'm starving," Sam replied honestly. "I'm gonna go take a shower before dinner."

As he left the room, Dean was left with Cas, and an awkward silence ensued. Dean finally cleared his throat and headed toward the kitchen. "Well, I'm gonna make dinner. You wanna help?"

Cas shrugged but followed him and Dean set him to work slicing onions and tomato as he mixed up the burger meat with some diced onions and a little barbeque sauce—his secret ingredient. He slapped three huge patties into the pan and turned to see how Cas was doing with the toppings.

He frowned though as he saw the angel just staring at the knife, a half-chopped tomato on the board in front of him. "Cas?"

The angel started and the knife clattered from his fingers onto the counter as he spun around to look at Dean, eyes blown wide. The elder Winchester held up his hands, not sure what was going on with Cas lately but figured he was entitled to be a little weird after getting hexed and then tortured by his own brothers—not to mention betrayed by one of the few angels he had counted as a friend. But still, Cas wasn't normally this jumpy and Dean wondered if there was something else going on.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said calmly and offered a smile. "Just wondering if you had finished chopping."

Cas looked back at the board and reached out to take up the knife again. "Oh, yes, sorry, I was just thinking, that's all." He went back to slicing as Dean watched him for a little longer before turning back to the burgers, a new worry gnawing at his insides.

Yeah, something was definitely wrong with Cas.

~~~~~~~

Castiel wasn't sure what had come over him, just like he hadn't known his reasons earlier for being unable to leave the bunker. One minute he had been slicing the tomato for hamburgers and the next, all he could see was the knife in his hand, which turned into memories of him slamming his blade into Crowley's back. Of course, killing a demon wasn't what bothered him about that, even if Crowley was a pseudo ally; he had killed plenty of demons. No, the thing that bothered him was how much he had needed to kill. In that moment, it had been all he could think about. The smell of blood, the feel of his knife slicing into a body, it had overcome him to the point he couldn't resist. He never wanted to feel like that again. Ever.

He saw Dean's face when the elder Winchester called to him, the worry, the confusion. Castiel felt guilt. Guilt from earlier when he had unconsciously flinched away from Dean, not because it was Dean he assured himself, but because he hadn't been ready for his friend to reach out to him and it had startled him. And guilt also because all these things only made him a burden to the Winchesters when they needed to be concentrating on figuring out how to stop the Darkness. They had already spent valuable time tracking down Rowena to cure his hex, and he couldn't afford for them to waste any more time on his issues that he didn't even understand himself. It would be best if he just headed out on his own but he couldn't leave so he really didn't have any options left.

He finished chopping the tomato and onion with no more flashback images and tried to convince himself he was hungry after smelling the burgers cooking. Of course, now with his grace, he still didn't technically need to eat, but he was weakened, and a little human sustenance couldn't hurt even if it just told the sad story of his condition all the more.

Sam came into the kitchen freshly showered, hair still damp, as Dean was just finishing toasting the buns and Castiel had set out all the fixings on the counter. The younger Winchester inhaled appreciatively.

"That smells amazing, I'm not even going to say anything about the lack of vegetables."

"There's lettuce and tomato," Dean shrugged as he slid a patty onto one of the buns before handing the plate to Sam. "Besides, you deserve a juicy piece of meat, brother. After fighting those Ghoulpires all day."

"Dean, for the last time, they're not Ghoulpires," Sam groaned as he started to top his burger. Castiel watched as he and Dean bantered, just going about their every day routine with such ease, he was almost envious.

"Cas," Dean called to him, and Castiel realized he was holding out a plate. Castiel took it with a nod of thanks and put some toppings on his burger as well then the three of them sat down at the table in the kitchen and dug in after Dean had distributed a beer to each of them.

Castiel picked up his burger and stared at it for a long moment, vaguely unappatized by the greasy meat, the gooey cheese, and the dripping ketchup, but he forced himself to take a bite. He didn't want to offend Dean by not eating the food he had cooked. It wasn't the food that bothered him anyway, it was just everything else going on with him that was messing with his appetite.

Still, he could only manage half by the time Sam and Dean had woofed theirs down and didn't think he could finish. Sam cast him a slightly concerned look.

"Cas, how have you been doing? Feeling any better?"

No, of course not. He was having flashbacks, and panic attacks, and couldn't even leave the bunker; he was anything but better. Of course, he wasn't about to say that either.

"I am feeling better after getting some rest."

"Well, you look bushed," Dean told him honestly. "Maybe you should get an early night tonight. I know I am!" Dean downed the last of his beer and stretched before he got up to dump his plate in the sink to wash later. "By the way, I'm glad you were here, your research really helped on this one."

Cas smiled slightly, but inside, felt rather useless. Perhaps the only thing he was good for at all anymore was researching. If he couldn't leave the bunker, after all, what good would he be on a hunt?

"I was glad to be of service," he said and stood from the table. "And I do think I will turn in early. I am still rather tired. I spent most of the time you were away watching the Netflix. Thank you for the suggestion."

Sam smiled slightly at the way Castiel said it. "It does make for good relaxation."

Cas stopped and turned back around, sheepish. "Would you…um, mind if I borrowed a laptop to watch some more? I was in the middle of a show."

"Sure, knock yourself out," Dean told him as he yawned. "I'm not using mine tonight. I think I'm off to the showers and then gonna hit the sack. 'Night."

Sam stood too and offered Cas a small smile. "Glad you're feeling better. You need anything?"

Cas shook his head. "No, I'm alright." More and more lies piling up. Castiel wondered wryly if one day he would drown in them.

Castiel retrieved Dean's laptop from the library and went back to his own room. It seemed empty and unlived in compared to Sam's room since he only had his clothing draped over the desk chair and a couple books on the side table he had been reading. He swallowed hard, as he settled onto the bed, pulling a blanket over himself, not because he was cold, but because he liked the safe, comfortable way it made him feel. Then he turned on Dean's laptop and found Netflix and continued to watch the show he had left off on. He lay on his side and stared dully at the screen for a while before he dozed off, his weakened grace using his inactive moment to start repairing him.

The sleep didn't last long however. Images flashed over Castiel's eyes as he slept, beating Dean, Dean beating him, stabbing Crowley, killing the angels who had tortured him and killed Hannah. Chasing that woman through the warehouse and choking the life from her….

He gasped awake, covered in sweat, panting. He switched on the light again and tried to calm his breathing, but it took an inordinate amount of time to do so. Uncomfortable, he unbuttoned his sweat-soaked shirt and peeled it off, the sudden air on his skin making him shiver, but it was a shock to his system that he needed. He then opened a drawer in the dresser in the room and found a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, some old clothes of Dean's that he had given the angel if he wanted to have something more comfortable to wear while he recovered. He then went to the showers and turned the water on cold before stepping under it. The icy water made him gasp, but took his mind off everything else for that brief moment, and washed the sweat off his skin as well. He stood under it for a few long minutes, just letting the water wash over him like a cold rain until he started shivering uncontrollably and decided it was time to get out.

He toweled off and dressed in the sweats before crossing the hall to his room and crawling back into bed, wrapped in his blanket. He looked at the laptop and saw the Netflix connection had timed out while he slept. He scrolled back to the episode he had left off on and settled in for a sleepless night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam woke early the next morning, surprised to find he had almost gotten ten hours of sleep—a rare occurrence indeed. He yawned and sat up, running his fingers through his bedhead before slipping out of bed, and padding into the kitchen to make some coffee and check on his laptop for any newsfeeds that would point to anything relating to the Darkness.

His mind turned to his recent discussion he'd had with Dean on their recent hunt, in the dead of night as they slept in the Impala after the dream he'd had about their father—or, whoever, whatever, that had been. He had finally admitted to Dean about him catching the Darkness plague or whatever they wanted to call it and he had a feeling that, knowing his brother, he hadn't heard the last of that discussion, even if Dean would probably take a while to work out how he felt about Sam keeping it from him. He felt slightly guilty, after their whole discussion about keeping secrets from each other, but really Sam was fine now, and he hadn't wanted to give Dean any more worry than he already had to deal with. Especially with Cas the way he was right now.

And that led Sam to another worry altogether. Their angel didn't seem to be making a swift recovery like usual. Of course, Sam had seen him bad off before, but now that he had his grace back, even if it was only a fraction of his grace, he had hoped Cas would at least heal faster. But then maybe this whole spell had taken more out of Cas than he had been willing to admit. Sam remembered Cas' face when he had said the hex was clawing deeper and deeper into him. Maybe it had injured the angel's grace somehow, and that was why it was taking him a while to shake this.

But even then, Sam had the nagging feeling that wasn't the whole truth, and that Cas was suffering from more than just the physical fallout from Rowena's spell. Just like he had the nagging feeling that Dean was standing on pins and needles after the Mark's removal even though he professed to be perfectly fine.

Right—because they always got a clean break. He knew Dean wasn't sleeping, and he would bet everything he had that he knew why.

Sam sighed as he poured water into the coffee machine and turned it on. He would just have to make sure that he was there, and mentally sound enough to take care of both stubborn idiots if the other shoe dropped. It was times like this he missed Bobby even more than usual, if that were possible.

The coffee burbled and he went to get his laptop and boot it up. He was sitting down with a fresh, hot cup of coffee when Cas shuffled in, rubbing at his eyes, and looking terrible. Sam almost didn't recognize the angel who was wearing sweats and a t-shirt instead of his usual outfit, his hair sticking up all over the place.

"Hey, Cas, you doing okay?" Sam asked.

"I slept." Cas' voice was rough, as he came further into the kitchen and slumped at the table. "I had forgotten how heavy it can make you feel sometimes."

Sam smiled and stood to pour another cup of joe. "That's why we have coffee."

Cas gratefully accepted the cup and cradled it in his hands as he breathed in the aroma. "Thank you. I definitely understand why humans enjoy its effects so much. Even if it has been doing little for me."

Sam gazed across the table at him, eyes narrowed as he tried to gauge if something was wrong or not. "So, how are you holding up? Is your grace—"

"Fine," Cas cut in quickly then shrugged. "Well, as fine as I can be. I think I am still 'recharging' as you say. But I don't think there's any lasting damage if that's why you were inquiring. I should be back on my feet soon to help you and Dean fight the Darkness."

Sam's face softened a bit. "Cas, your job right now is just to get well. You don't need to rush back into the game. All we can do right now is research. You can help with that if you want, but there's no reason you need to run back out there to start hunting."

Cas looked down into his coffee, silent for a while. "I suppose a few more days of rest wouldn't hurt. I am still very tired. But I don't wish to be a burden either."

Sam's eyes widened. "Cas, you're not a burden. You're family."

The angel looked up with a sad smile. "That's a nice sentiment, Sam, but I wouldn't blame you for thinking so. I am not capable of what I once was. I'm not really an asset anymore."

"Cas…" Sam tried, unsure of what to say, but at that moment, Dean shuffled into the kitchen with a yawn, rubbing his eyes, and Sam broke off with an inner huff, not wanting to have this conversation with Dean around, especially when he had just woken up. His brother meant well, but sometimes he just had a way of saying things that made it seem like he meant the exact opposite, and Cas didn't need that right now.

"Coffee," Dean muttered as he made his way to the coffee maker and poured a cup, dribbling some of it on the table, but ignored the mess, going to join Sam and Cas at the table, eyes half closed, groaning. "Man, sometimes I think that much sleep is bad for you."

Sam snorted. "No, it's just you're not used to it, your body probably thought you were dead being out for that long." He stood up to grab some cereal and milk for breakfast. "Your body will thank you later. Just drink your coffee."

Dean mumbled unintelligibly and gulped down his coffee, looking better and more human after a few sips. "So, anything on the Darkness radar?"

Sam sat back down and poured a bowl of cereal. "Haven't gotten a chance to look yet. Just barely got up." He set the carton of milk aside and took up his spoon. "I still think Metatron is our best bet."

"Yeah, I know," Dean grumbled. "Which means we're gonna have to track down that douchebag now. Any ideas, Cas?"

The angel shook his head. "I looked for my car, but wasn't able to find anything. When I typed it in like you showed me all I got was a site called 'Fortune Nookie'. I don't know how that's relevant."

Dean choked on his coffee and Sam shot him a bitchface.

"I, uh, wouldn't read into it too much, Cas," Dean told him.

Sam started pulling up news reports on his computer, but was coming up empty so far. "It's weird how the sickness that popped up when the Darkness broke out hasn't spread."

"Short shelf life," Dean shrugged, and cast a guarded, and slightly accusatory look at Sam. "At least we know how to cure it if it happens again though."

Sam opened his mouth to reply but Cas beat him to it. "How did you find that out, Sam? You never had time to explain."

"Oh, Sam just contracted the disease and randomly decided to burn himself with holy fire," Dean growled.

Cas turned to Sam with wide eyes. "Sam, why didn't you say you had the sickness?"

"Because I got better, obviously," Sam insisted, refraining from reaching up and rubbing his neck where the dark ropes of the disease had been. "Besides, it doesn't seem like that's our problem anymore."

"You almost died, Sam!" Dean said, finally snapping as Sam had predicted he would. "And you called me while you had it, and didn't even bother to tell me you might be dying!"

"Yeah, and you know why?" Sam snapped back. "Because if I had, you would have dropped everything and come to try some half-assed plan to save me! And then you would have gotten the sickness too, and we both would have died with the Darkness still out there and no one else with even a clue as to what the hell it is!"

"Yeah, so what?" Dean demanded. "How would you like it if I failed to tell you I was dying? You know we only got into this mess because you couldn't let me go."

Sam glared at his brother across the table, jaw working as emotion surged through him. "We decided we wouldn't do that anymore, Dean."

Dean snorted and grabbed the box of cereal and another bowl from the drainer. He poured out what was left from the box, which turned out to be only about half a bowl full. "Looks like we need a supply run."

"I'll do it," Sam said quickly, needing to get away from his brother to clear his head for a while. He stood and dumped his dirty bowl into the sink. "Write down what you want. I'm gonna go get dressed." He left Dean sitting there seething while Cas sat with him, awkwardly silent. Sam was slightly surprised that Cas hadn't pitched into the conversation. Usually he would have more to add, but he'd seemed a little spacy since they broke the curse, so maybe it was just a side-affect of exhaustion.

In any case, they really needed to get their heads in the game if they planned on stopping the Darkness, and at the moment, Sam really wasn't sure how best to do that.

~~~~~~~~

Castiel watched Sam leave the room, feeling slightly wary at being left alone with Dean seething to himself. He knew the elder Winchester wasn't the same as when he had the Mark but still…there was something about his anger that made Cas uncomfortable. Perhaps because he now knew the feeling of uncontrollable rage like he never had before. The attack dog spell had been worse even than when he'd had the Leviathans inside of him. The Leviathans had mostly been in control then, but with Rowena's spell, it had been all him. A warped, twisted version of himself, but him all the same. That scared him more than anything.

But the new knowledge of Sam contracting the Darkness plague… He could understand Dean's anger on the subject. He was angry too, but for a different reason. If he hadn't been under the spell, he could have gone to offer assistance to Sam while he was trying to clean up the plague. Perhaps then, Sam wouldn't have been put in danger like that. It just proved how little good he could do now. Sam had tried to assure him he wasn't a burden, but Castiel thought that was probably just the younger Winchester being kind. He knew that his current position wasn't good for much of anything.

He set his now cold cup of coffee aside and stood. "I'm…going to go change. Then I'll help with whatever research you need to do," he said hesitantly to Dean.

The elder Winchester grunted noncommittally, still just eating his cereal with a brooding look, and Cas beat a hasty retreat.

He truly had meant to just change back into his other clothes and go out to the library to start researching, but as soon as he got into his room and closed the door, he found he had no desire to leave. Especially since Dean's laptop was still sitting on his bed from last night. Cas remembered the numbness that enfolded his mind as he watched the TV shows, not needing to think about anything else but the contrived plots and the fake people. It was just…easier, and he found himself climbing into the bed and turning on Netflix again, staring at the screen as he propped himself up with pillows, just zoning.

He was almost startled by a knock on the door, and slid his hand under the pillow where he kept his angel blade before the door opened and Sam poked his head in. The hunter frowned slightly, seeing Cas sitting in bed watching Netflix, but he seemed to decide not to comment on it, offering a small smile instead.

"Hey, sorry to bother you, Cas. I was just wondering if you might like to get out for a while, go on a supply run with me? It might make you feel better to get some fresh air."

Cas thought of his attempt the day before to leave the bunker and a cold sweat broke out across his back and belly. He closed his eyes to fight against the images flashing through his head and shook his head swiftly. "Um, no thank you, Sam. I would rather stay here."

Sam frowned at him and Cas really hoped he wouldn't see anything wrong, but the younger Winchester conceded with a nod. "Okay, sure. Anything particular you need?"

"No, I'm alright," Cas replied, just wanting the hunter to leave.

"Okay, just take it easy, Cas, and don't worry about Dean and his grumpy attitude. He's just been dealing with a lot of stress lately, we all have."

And my being here isn't making it better, Castiel thought but simply nodded. "He'll be better once we get a lead on the Darkness."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Sam said, and smiled. "Okay, well, I'm heading out. See you later."

He closed the door behind him and Cas let out a pent up breath, not realizing until now that he was shaking slightly. This terror of leaving the bunker was really becoming a problem.

He turned back to the police procedural he was currently watching and zoned out again, not realizing he was drifting off until it was too late, and he was already caught up in a nightmare.

~~~~~~~

_He was blind, or at least, he had something over his head. He had been moved into some building and his hands had been shackled and strung up above his head so that he was teetering on the balls of his feet. He could hear heavy footsteps walking around him, the clinking of metal instruments, and his stomach clenched in anticipation of the torture he knew was coming. Familiar voices he couldn't place at that moment murmured close by and then someone tugged the sack from his head, and he was blinded by the sudden light for a second before he focused on the face in front of him._

_Relief washed over him. "Dean," he croaked and saw Sam was at his brother's shoulder, both of them with hard expressions on their faces. "Sam. You came."_

_"We've been here the whole time, Cas," Dean told him in a low voice, raising an angel blade for Castiel to see. "You must serve your penance."_

_Castiel's heart dropped as Sam too pulled out an angel blade and walked around behind him. "You're broken, Castiel. A fallen angel," the younger Winchester said before leaning close to Castiel's ear and hissing, "Worthless."_

_"Nothing but a burden," Dean continued. "It's time you realized that."_

_"Please," Castiel pleaded as the two men he counted as his brothers circled him menacingly. "Please, we…we're family."_

_Sam's laugh was cold. "That's what you think?"_

_"Poor Castiel," Dean said mockingly and his eyes flashed black. "So naïve."_

_Castiel couldn't bring himself to plead again as their blades dug into his flesh. Tears fell from his eyes in despair as he knew now that no one was coming to save him._

_~~~~~~~_

Castiel jerked awake with a strangled cry, hands grasping his chest as the phantom pain from the dream made his skin tingle. He was shaking again, sweat beading on his brow as he gulped air like he had been previously drowning. He was even more shocked to find his cheeks were damp.

The tears from his dream had been real. Maybe other parts of the dream had been real as well. While he was certain the Winchesters would never chain him and torture him like that, he was, after all, just a broken, fallen angel, and nothing but a burden to them.

Sam could say they were family all he wanted to, but it didn't really mean anything, did it? Castiel of all people should know that. After he had pleaded with Ephrim and Jonah as they tortured him, and they had gone so far as to disown him as their brother—after Hannah's betrayal…what was family but pain and suffering? Perhaps this was his new penance. That he couldn't have the thing he most desired.

Castiel then remembered he had told Dean he would help with the research, and decided it was best to do something. The last thing he wanted to do was fall asleep again. He hated his weakened state. Hated experiencing such human things as nightmares. It only made everything worse.

He hesitantly left the room, taking Dean's laptop with him, and felt slightly guilty for keeping it to himself for so long. He should have given it back, as the elder Winchester probably needed it for research.

He wandered into the library but Dean wasn't there, nor was Sam, but the younger hunter might have still been out in town. Castiel put the laptop on the table and turned to the bookshelves to start looking for anything that might help them…

Bodies littered the floor, pools of blood everywhere.

Castiel let out a strangled cry and staggered back against the table, nearly losing his balance. All he could see was the scene he had come back to that day when he and Sam had been trying to save Dean and the Mark was making him go fast off the deep end. The bodies of the Stynes, even the boy who Castiel found hard to believe was totally at fault; all of them dead, without remorse, lying on the library floor.

He blinked and suddenly the image was gone again, once more a clean library with no blood, no bodies. He wasn't lying on the floor amidst the wreckage with an angel blade stabbing a book two inches from his skull.

Castiel sagged and collapsed to his knees as his body didn't seem able to hold him up anymore. He was shaking uncontrollably, breath coming in sharp gasps as his chest constricted. He was only vaguely aware of footsteps hurrying toward him.

"Cas? Hey, Cas!"

Castiel's head shot up and saw Dean suddenly in front of him, reaching out. The instant he touched him, Castiel reacted, shoving him roughly away and falling backwards underneath the table.

"Please, I don't want to hurt you," he cried. "Just…just don't!"

"Cas?" Dean's voice sounded confused, but he stepped backwards and the angel tried to get a hold of his breathing but nothing was working. He couldn't see his friend; he couldn't make himself believe nothing was wrong.

All he could see was blood.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam came back into the bunker with his arms full of groceries. He was heading for the kitchen to put them away when he heard Cas cry out and say something about not wanting to hurt anyone. Sam, alarm bells ringing in his head, hurriedly dumped the groceries on the map table and ran into the library, grabbing his gun from the back of his jeans as he did.

He was confused as he came across only Cas and Dean, and not some baddie. Cas was cowering under the library table, and Dean was standing with his hands outstretched, a stricken look on his face. Sam hurriedly put his gun away.

"Dean?" he asked and his brother swung around to face him, his face pale, and his jaw slack.

"I—I don't know what happened," he said helplessly.

"I'll take care of him," Sam said, having a feeling he knew what was going on, so he gently gripped Dean's shoulder and pushed his brother from the room. "Leave us for a minute?"

Dean looked about ready to protest, but he snapped his mouth shut as shame washed over him and he nodded, hurrying from the room as he ran an anxious hand through his hair.

Sam took a deep breath and went to crouch in front of the table, not too close to Cas but close enough so that the angel could register who it was.

"Cas? Hey, are you okay?"

"Sam," Cas startled him by reaching out and grabbing his sleeve. "We have to go, Dean is…" he seemed to shake himself, confusion washing over his eyes as he looked around, blinking, before finally focusing on Sam again. "What—what happened?"

Sam carefully held up a hand, palm out, before putting it on Cas' shoulder, feeling the trembling that was running through Cas' entire frame. "I think you're having some kind of panic attack. It's okay. Dean's okay. Just try to breathe, alright?"

Cas gasped a breath, but Sam gripped both his shoulders tightly and forced him to look into his eyes. "Cas, look at me, just breathe slow. In…out…in…out…"

It took several long seconds before Cas matched his breathing to Sam's instructions and by that time, he had seemed to come out of whatever confused flashback he had been in previously. Sam gently helped him to his feet and settled him into a chair, crouching down in front of him so as not to loom over him when he was already jumpy.

"Cas," Sam said, placing a comforting hand on his arm as he looked up at the angel. "What happened?"

"I—I don't know," Cas whispered, face cross between frightened and shamed. Sam knew the feeling. Hallucinations were not pleasant in the least. "I just came in here and I saw—" He swallowed hard.

"What did you see?" Sam asked gently.

Cas gave a shuddering breath and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I saw the bodies of the Stynes. The…blood—everything. And then when Dean came in, I thought…" He shook his head.

Sam nodded in understanding. "You thought you were back there and he still had the Mark."

Cas nodded shakily. "What's wrong with me?"

Sam shook his head. "Cas, look, you went through a traumatic experience. And that spell, it did things to you, scrambled your head. No one would blame you for being a little confused. Flashbacks aren't uncommon when it comes to post traumatic stress."

"But I shouldn't…I shouldn't be this way," Cas said roughly, his voice strained. "I don't understand why my grace won't heal."

"Cas," Sam caught his attention again, squeezing his arm. "We have all gone through crap like this, okay? It's part of the job. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Not for you, you're human," Cas said simply. "But I'm an angel. This isn't supposed to happen to us."

Sam smiled sadly. "Like I said, Cas, that spell messed you up. Who knows what kind of side effects you may have. Come on." He stood up and offered a hand to the angel. "Let's go get some fresh air. That might help to clear your head."

"No!" Cas shouted, a sudden look of panic in his eyes that startled Sam.

"What's wrong?" the younger Winchester asked, holding his hands up.

"I—I don't want to go out," Cas said hurriedly, breath quickening again. "I just…want to go to my room."

"Okay," Sam said quickly. "We don't have to go outside. If you want to go lie down, that's a good idea too."

Cas stood shakily, and Sam took his elbow to keep him steady as he led him back through the dormitory ward, sensing the heaviness in Cas' footsteps.

"I'm sorry," the angel said quietly.

"Cas, you don't need to apologize," Sam said quickly, stopping to look him in the eye. "Seriously, I know what you're going through, and it's scary, and disheartening, but, Cas, you're not alone in this, okay? Dean and I are here for you, we're gonna get you through this. I promise."

Cas looked down at his feet, not replying. Sam pressed his lips into a thin line and started moving again. "Come on, you can rest in my room for a while, watch some Netflix. Sound good?"

Cas nodded and Sam steered him toward his own room, settling the angel on the bed. As he turned on the TV, Cas finally spoke again. "Thank you, Sam. This did…unsettle me."

Sam gave him a sincere smile. "Like I said, Cas, we've all been there. You just need to take care of yourself, okay? Take some time off."

"But the Darkness…"

"Dean and I can handle it," Sam insisted. "None of us are running out to fight this thing right now anyway. This is the perfect time to get some relaxation in while we're busy with the research."

Cas sighed, but looked vaguely relieved as well. "Very well."

"Let me know if you need anything," Sam insisted before he retreated to the door and half shutting it behind him. He let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Yeah, there was definitely something wrong with Cas. Now Sam just had to get Dean to have a civil conversation with him about it.

~~~~~~~

Dean kept replaying the scene in his head. It just wouldn't leave him. He had been making a fresh pot of coffee when he'd heard Cas yelling in the library and had run in to find him staring at the floor in horror, even though nothing was there, gripping the table and looking terrified. Of course, Dean had done the first thing he could think of and ran to him to see what was wrong, but then when Cas had turned to him with that same horrified fear in his eyes, flinching away from his touch and falling to the ground in an attempt to get away from him…Dean knew exactly what he was seeing. He didn't even need Cas' words to tell him which horror had been replaying in the angel's mind.

_"Dean, I don't want to have to hurt you."_

_"I don't think that's gonna be a problem."_

Dean slammed his fist into the kitchen table, the pain that erupted through his knuckles jarring the images for one moment at least. His left hand went to his right forearm, free of the Mark now, and dug in. If only the memories of the horrors he'd committed while he'd it had been erased along with it. The physical Mark was only the beginning. The scars ran so much deeper.

He didn't blame Cas for being messed up. Sure, his PTSD or whatever this was might have been exacerbated by the attack dog spell, but Dean still held himself accountable for the memories. If that was what Cas was seeing, then the damage was already done and Dean had been the one to do it.

"Dean."

Dean looked up to see his brother come into the kitchen, the bags from earlier in his arms, cold groceries dripping condensation on the floor. He proceeded to set them on the counter and start putting them away.

Dean swallowed hard. "So, how's Cas?"

Sam continued putting groceries away for a few seconds before he turned around and spoke. "Dean, Cas is really messed up right now, he needs help. I think he's in a pretty bad place," the younger man said sincerely.

Dean bit his lip, his stomach churning as his guilt screamed at him, your fault, your fault, your fault. "Yeah, I noticed, and I mean, he's sure as hell entitled, but why now? Remnants of the spell—what?"

Sam sighed and closed the refrigerator door, leaning back against the counter to face his brother. "I don't think it's anything so supernatural. He's been traumatized, and while the spell was definitely the breaking point, I think he'd been dealing with this crap for a long time. It's just his mind was scrambled from the spell, and probably when those bastards who captured him stuck pins in his head and broke whatever hold he had on his emotions before. But he's definitely suffering from PTSD."

Dean swallowed hard, processing this. He didn't want to admit his intimidation at trying to fix something that didn't take a clear counter spell or antidote. If Cas was suffering from plain old PTSD, then what the hell were they gonna do? It's not like they could get him a shrink. One look at his psych eval and he would be institutionalized instantly. And Dean didn't think he was in any shape to help someone else with their issues. Not when he already had a buttload of his own that he refused to deal with. Talk about a role model.

"We'll get him through it," he said for his brother's benefit. "We've all been there."

Sam's lips flattened. "Yeah, I know, but, Dean, Cas is really bad off. I mean, I know I was bad with Lucifer in my head, but it was Lucifer in my head, not just PTSD. If Cas is having such violent flashbacks, he's suffering a very strong case of it. We're going to have to be very careful how we deal with this or we could just make it worse." He lowered his voice. "I think he's even afraid to go outside."

"What, why?" Dean asked, frowning.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, but he freaked when I said we should get some air. He really needs help, Dean," he repeated.

Dean shook his head and raised his hands. "Well, Sammy, you're on your own with this one. He doesn't want me anywhere near him."

"Dean, you can't say that," Sam said, and Dean could tell he was trying to bite back his frustration. "Cas needs both of us. We're all the family he has right now."

"Yeah, and am I really any better than those feathered douchebags who strung him up and tortured him?" Dean demanded. "Sam, I almost killed him. I beat the crap out of him and left him there on the library floor choking on his own blood with a knife two inches from his face. How the hell am I qualified to take care of anyone? Offer support? I can't even deal with my own crap!"

"Dean, if you don't, he's going to think you want him gone," Sam pleaded. "Cas is not in a good place right now, if you distance yourself, he may think you blame him for being down for the count, especially now when we're trying to figure out how to stop the Darkness."

"And if he thinks I'm trying to kill him every time I see him, that's not any better!" Dean insisted. "Sam, come on, man. I screw up everything. I don't want to screw Cas up even more."

Sam huffed an annoyed sigh, glaring at his brother. "You know that's not true, Dean. But fine, if you don't feel comfortable helping Cas, then I'll do it myself. Just don't be surprised if your relationship gets even worse than it already is."

Dean wanted to open his mouth and protest, but couldn't find anything to say. Sam was probably right about that, that not trying to repair the awkward rift that had occurred between him and Cas wasn't going to do either of them any favors in the long run, but he just couldn't bring himself to go there. Maybe because, deep down most of the times he closed his eyes, when it wasn't the Darkness he was thinking of, he was still seeing himself beat Cas bloody. Remembering the impact of Cas' flesh under his fist, the give of his rib cage on a particularly harsh blow. The way he had slammed Cas' face repeatedly into the table—the way he had wanted to drive that blade through his neck. He would have liked to say that he had spared Cas because somewhere deep down, he still saw him as a friend, but in reality he remembered exactly what he had thought at that moment. He remembered the true reason was that Cas simply wasn't worth it. No threat to him. That was why he spared him. Sentiment hadn't even been a small factor.

And when he wasn't thinking of Cas, he was thinking of everything else he had done at the end. Getting Rudy killed in cold blood, slaughtering the Stynes—sure, they had deserved it, even now he couldn't deny that, but his slaughter had been vicious, and then there was the kid... Cas had been right. The Dean Winchester he knew wouldn't have killed him, but Dean hadn't been himself.

And then there was Sam. More remembered crushing punches, more nightmares. He really tried not to think too much about the scene in the Mexican restaurant. He didn't want to think about whether he had meant to hit Death with that scythe to begin with, or if he had decided in some split second of clarity not to kill his baby brother after all.

"Dean!"

He hadn't realized until now that Sam was calling him. He blinked and focused on his brother's concerned face.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Dean suddenly realized he was digging his fingernails into the newly clear flesh of his right forearm. He slowly relaxed his grip and saw bruises starting just under his elbow. He cleared his throat and looked back up at Sam. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine."

Sam shot him a look, but didn't comment. Dean was glad of that.

"I—I think I'm gonna go work on the car for a while," Dean said.

"Dean," Sam tried to stop him. "This isn't just going to go away if you ignore it like you try to do with your own issues. Cas is our friend, our brother, Dean. We can't just leave him to suffer through this alone."

"And I will do what I can," Dean told him, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "But I don't think it's a good idea for me to see him right this moment, and until he can look at my face and not have flashbacks of me beating the crap out of him, I'm gonna go fix my baby because that's something I can fix."

"Dean," Sam said softly, but Dean was already heading out the door, grabbing the six-pack Sam had just bought and taking it with him as he retreated to the garage.

He popped the first beer open as he grabbed his toolbox, stepping back to take stock of the Impala's injuries before he started working on her. He knew Sam was right, and hell, he hated how little he felt he could do to help Cas, but maybe he needed to accept that doing little was actually a better option. Because he sure as hell couldn't stand to see that look of horrified despair Cas had turned on him when Dean refused to stop when the angel had asked. "Everyone you know, everyone you love—they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world." And Cas would have too, rather than kill a friend. Even though there had been a time Dean had made Cas promise him he would take him out if it came to that point, Dean had secretly known that Cas wouldn't do it. No more than Sam or Bobby ever would have because he was family and Dean should never had put that burden on him.

When he had confronted Cas in the library, fully charged with the power of the Mark running through his veins, he had known the angel wouldn't kill him. Couldn't. The Mark had told him Cas was weak, but really, would Dean have been able to do the same thing in his place? Not now, without the Mark anyway.

And now that sad horror Dean had seen in Cas' eyes that day had turned into pure terror that Dean might just try to stab him at any moment. Dean couldn't stand to see that either. He couldn't begin to describe how that feeling cut through him. It was like a knife in his own chest.

So, no, of course he wouldn't let Cas drown alone, but he sure as hell wasn't going to risk making the whole situation worse for him. Sam was just going to have to understand that.

Dean opened his second beer before he had even started work. Sometimes he wished their lives could just be normal for a while.

~~~~~~~~

That night Dean started having nightmares again.

Not that he hadn't been, but lately, they had been occupied with the Darkness and the mystery that surrounded her. This dream had been one of the bad ones again. Really bad. Bad as in coming out of a trance of blood lust and realizing the bodies strewn around you, torn to shreds, were all the people you loved and that you held the knife that had killed them. The kind of dreams the Mark had given him. Obviously, it was too much to hope that those would go away with the Mark too.

In this dream, Dean was kneeling in a river of blood, the First Blade in his hand and when he stared at the carnage around him, his horror grew as he saw Sam, and Cas, and Charlie, and even Bobby—all of them dead, torn the shreds by his own hand. The Mark on his arm called to him and even though he was horrified, a part of him wanted to do it again, and again, and again…

Dean woke with a strangled cry, jolting upright in bed. He was soaked in sweat, and his sheets had tangled around his legs, trapping him. He quickly threw them off and just sat there panting for a few long moments, head in his hands as he tried to force the images away. But it was hard to force away images that weren't far from the truth.

Finally, he took his trembling hands away from his face and dared to look down at his right arm. He let out the breath he had been holding. The Mark was still gone. That dream would never be reality now.

Not that that made him feel any better.

Dean, still trembling, buried his head in his hands again.

~~~~~~~

Sam lay awake, brought to consciousness by the muffled sounds coming from Dean's room and when he heard the strangled scream, he wanted nothing more than to go to his brother, try to wake him up, but he couldn't. It wouldn't help a thing, and Sam knew Dean wasn't going to talk about it anyway.

Not like he didn't already know what was wrong.

It was a while after that he heard Dean get up and head to the kitchen, likely to grab a bottle of whisky to put himself to sleep with. Sam wished he could offer half the support a bottle of liquor could to his brother.

But he would be there when he was needed, and considering Cas' current condition and Dean's rapidly deteriorating one, Sam knew this was going to be a long and hard road to travel.

He didn't know if anyone was listening, but he prayed for strength.

Then because he couldn't sleep now either, he got up to sit at his desk with his computer and started to do some research on how to help people who were suffering from PTSD.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel heard Dean get up early and shuffle out to the garage. He lay in bed, curled around a pillow as he wondered what he was going to try to do today. After his panic attack in the library yesterday, he wasn't sure even leaving his room was a good idea. Maybe Sam could bring him some books so he could help research because he wasn't sure he was ready to be in the library with Dean again, even if he did want to be useful. He didn't want to experience another episode like he had the day before. That hadn't been fair to either of them.

He had heard Dean's cries in the night and knew he was having nightmares again and probably ones induced by Cas' issues the day before. Was there anything he wasn't going to ruin with his weakened condition? The last thing he wanted to do was make Dean uncomfortable, but he was afraid it was a little late for that. However, there was still the issue that he just couldn't leave the bunker, and now he was pretty sure he didn't really want to even so much as think about leaving the bunker. Because every time he did, he broke out into a cold sweat.

Yes, he decided that staying in his room for the day was probably the best idea. If they asked, he would just say that he needed some more rest, though he was pretty sure Sam wasn't buying that one anymore. But Sam needed to care for his brother right now, not the burden of a fallen angel who had crashed into their lives and ruined them.

So he turned back to Dean's laptop, which he had taken again the night before, and wondered if he should go put it in the other room before Dean needed it so as to avoid an awkward and uncomfortable exchange probably neither of them wanted right now.

But if he met Dean in the library again like yesterday, would the same thing happen? He hated the uncertainty of not knowing when his flashbacks would jump on him. His breathing sped up just at the thought and he had to focus very hard to calm down again. He couldn't risk it, he decided. It wouldn't help him, and it wouldn't help Dean.

Disgusted by his own cowardice, but not willing to make things worse just to prove himself—or, probably more appropriately, confirm he was a coward as he thought—he just turned back to watching Netflix.

He heard Sam get up and head to the shower, and watched another episode of what he understood to be a 'sit-com' before he was startled by a knock on his door.

It was opened a crack before he could reply and Sam looked in. Castiel felt some small relief it wasn't Dean and then felt horrible all over again.

"Hey, Cas, I hope I didn't wake you, I was just wondering if I could get you anything. I was about to make some coffee and breakfast."

"Oh, um, some coffee might be nice," Cas said. Somewhere his brain was telling him that the caffeine wouldn't do his body any good in its already nervous state, but he wanted the warmth of the drink and the familiar flavor to offer some stability. Besides, even though his grace wasn't at full power, did caffeine really affect him?

Sam nodded and retreated to the kitchen as Cas continued watching the show until Sam came back in with the promised coffee and two plates, each with a half of bagel with cream cheese on it.

"I didn't know if you wanted to eat or not, but I thought it couldn't hurt," Sam told him as he handed one of the plates and cups to Castiel. "Not sure if you like cream cheese and bagels; I could get you something else if you rather."

"Oh, that's not necessary, thank you Sam," Cas said, feeling self-conscious from the care the younger Winchester was giving him. "I do like cream cheese and bagels; I ate a lot of them when I was working at the convenience store."

Sam smiled and pulled the chair from the desk over to sit by the bed. "You mind if I join you? Dean's off in the garage fixing the Impala."

Cas bit his lip and cupped his hands tighter around the mug of coffee. "Is Dean okay? I didn't sleep last night and I heard him up. I hope I didn't…"

"Cas, man, don't blame yourself," Sam told him quickly. "Dean is still trying to get over the whiplash from the Mark's removal. He hasn't talked about it at all, but, well, obviously I can read between the lines. I've seen enough to know that just because it's gone, doesn't mean it's stopped tormenting him."

Castiel nodded in understanding. That was exactly how he felt after being cured from the attack dog spell. He looked down into his coffee as Sam cleared his throat slightly.

"How are you, Cas?"

He was a bit surprised by the question and stuttered a quick, "I'm fine." It would almost be amusing—him giving the typical Winchester response—if he hadn't been so bad at hiding the fact that he was anything but.

Sam offered a small understanding smile. "You know, Cas, it's okay to be not-okay."

Cas heaved a sigh. "Sam, we are on the brink of another catastrophic war, I don't have time to be not-okay."

Sam shrugged. "And I respect that, I totally understand too. But there's a difference between having issues that you can work through and suffering others that may hurt more the longer you let them go undealt with."

Castiel's heart started pumping heavily, his lungs feeling tight in his chest. "Sam, I'm sorry for what happened yesterday, I didn't mean to let that happen to me, but if you need help in the coming fight, I'm sure I'll be better soon. I—I'm sure with a little more rest…" Even as he said it, all he could think about was leaving the bunker, and then he was beating Dean again. Stabbing Crowley. Tearing up Jonah and Ephrim with no remorse for what they had done to him, and to Hannah. His breathing was starting to get even harder, and he found he was panting as his pulse raced erratically. Some of the coffee sloshed onto his lap and he was suddenly aware of hands taking it away and gripping his shoulders. Not hard, but enough to make him notice; to anchor him.

"Cas, Cas, hey, calm down." The voice was deep and soothing and Cas wanted to obey, but his body was making that difficult.

"Cas, breathe, man, come on, take a deep breath."

Castiel tried to do that, and his breathing was a little jerky, but he was finally able to pull a successful breath into his lungs and once he exhaled he tried again with better results.

The hands were still on his shoulders, and the voice seemed relieved now. "That's great, Cas, keep doing that."

Castiel breathed deeply several more times and felt his panic receding, his heartbeat slowing to a more natural rate and finally he was able to focus on his immediate surroundings instead of those in his head. He looked up to see Sam sitting on the side of the bed, leaning close with a concerned expression as Cas met his eyes.

"You okay now?" Sam asked him, hands still on his shoulders.

Castiel felt mortified that he had just had another panic attack in front of Sam—just after he had tried to convince the hunter he was fine and totally capable of helping them in the coming fight. "I—I don't know what's wrong with me," he said miserably, pushing away and climbing out of the bed, his legs shaking as he hugged his arms around himself. He hated feeling like this. He was a warrior. He had flown to the darkest reaches of Hell twice to rescue Sam and Dean and fought countless foes. Why couldn't he handle his own damn memories?

"Cas, it's okay," Sam insisted, staying seated on the bed, and putting his hands out, palms up, as if to offer his understanding to Castiel. "I know it's hard to accept, but there's nothing wrong with feeling like this. I know it doesn't feel right, and your body reacts in ways you don't want it to, but after what you went through you can't blame yourself."

"But why won't they stop?" Castiel demanded, anger suddenly flaring inside him as he clenched his hands into fists. "These panic attacks, the…the memories. How do I get them to go away?"

Sam gave him a sympathetic look. "Cas, these kinds of things don't just go away with the snap of your fingers. It takes time to heal your mental scars just like the physical ones; in fact, a lot of times, it's harder."

"But I can't even…" Castiel trailed off, turning away from Sam. "I'm supposed to be a warrior. I'm not supposed to feel like this. I'm supposed to be…strong." He bit his lip, not even knowing why he said those words out loud, though it was how he felt. He shouldn't be burdening Sam with this though, he shouldn't be making himself more of a burden than he already was. And yet, the emotions boiling up inside of him felt like they would explode if he kept them bottled up too much longer. He was just so confused.

But Sam Winchester was forever patient. "Cas, look, I think you're suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, which is not uncommon for warriors and soldiers to have, especially after going through the kind of stuff you did. Dean and I have gone through that ourselves and it's crappy. I know I still have my moments, as I'm sure Dean will attest too, but it's not something to be ashamed of, and I want you to know we're here to help you through it."

Castiel sank into the desk chair, suddenly tired, defeated, knowing Sam was right. "But why? Why now? Why is it so bad now? I have felt…things… before, after Naomi was in my head, but this….the flashbacks…it's never been this bad, Sam." His voice broke and he bit his lip hard as he tried to keep his emotions at bay. "I can't…I can't even go outside," he added in disgust.

Sam nodded and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "I don't know why it's so bad now, Cas. Maybe—probably—because of everything that's happened and the spell Rowena used on you. I mean, nothing has exactly been easy for any of us lately. But you don't have to feel ashamed about it. You just need to learn how to work through it, and we will help you."

Castiel shook his head, running his thumb across the knuckles of his right hand, the ones that were still bruised. "But Dean…my reaction yesterday upset him, I didn't mean to do that, but…"

"Dean's having his own problems right now," Sam said quietly. "Not so much different from yours. But I don't think avoiding each other is going to help either of you."

Castiel wasn't so sure. He wasn't sure he could stand to see the guilt on Dean's face again. Nor did he like recalling the flash of fear he had felt when Dean knelt over him in the library with the angel blade—the inevitability as it started its downward motion and the sudden realization that Castiel had failed to save one of his dearest friends from himself; that he had failed his mission—the only one that had ever mattered to him. His inability to get up after Dean inexplicably left him alive, even if he was choking on his own blood and had multiple broken bones. The long agonizing process of putting his destroyed body back together and calling Sam to tell him his brother seemed to be past saving….

"Cas, hey."

Sam's voice startled him out of another flashback, and Cas hadn't realized he had folded up in the chair, his arms clenched around his ribs and his fingers digging into his arms hard enough to bruise. He took a moment to close his eyes and focus on breathing as he released his grip and was thankfully able to stave off another panic attack.

Sam looked at him with knowing concern, but thankfully no pity. Castiel was grateful for that. "We'll get through this together, Cas. Just let me know if there's anything you need. Anything I can do."

"Thank you," Castiel said, his voice a hoarse croak. "But I think I would just like to be left alone right now."

Sam opened his mouth, looking about ready to protest, but then closed it again and nodded, standing up and taking with him his coffee and breakfast they had neglected to eat. "Okay, just let me know if you need anything."

Castiel nodded in thanks and as Sam left, he turned the computer back on to Netflix and started watching the shows again. If he really let himself consider it, it would have been sad to think the only way he could ease his mind was with the fake lives of fake people. But because it did work to keep his mind off anything that would induce any flashbacks, he just couldn't find it in himself to care.

~~~~~~~

Dean was out in the garage first thing in the morning. It wasn't even light outside, but he was done lying in bed pretending he could sleep. His head was still full of the horrific dreams that had plagued him the night before, ones that even several glasses of Jack couldn't fix, but he sure as hell wasn't going to talk about his feelings with anyone. That was what his mechanical pursuits were for.

Fixing Baby was something he could do, always, no matter what crap was going on in his life. She could be mended, and boy did she need some mending after that last hunt. Her grill was all crumpled up; headlights smashed, and almost every window busted, most of them with parts of Dean's own body. Yesterday he had taken time to wash all the blood from the Ghoulpires off of her paint, and painstakingly cleaned the shattered glass and the blood he and his enemies had shed in the backseat. He almost chuckled at that. Baby'd had enough Winchester blood shed in her between him, Sam, and their dad that she was practically family.

But even with all the damage she had taken, everything wrong was something he could fix with his tool kit and a little caring patience. He was envious. Humans just weren't like that. They were messy, and hard to fix if you could even pinpoint the problem area at all. And the psychological crap got in the way of everything. Just when you thought you were okay, it turns out that something was just waiting in the wings to give you a false sense of security before it jumped on you and then you couldn't sleep because you had nightmares about killing the people you cared about and loving it.

Dean hadn't really even thought about the Mark much in all the chaos that followed. Sure, he was glad it was gone, but since it had been removed he'd been too busy worrying about what the hell the Darkness was and what they were going to do about it. He hadn't had time to think about repercussions of the Mark's removal, or even about what he had done when he had gone fully darkside at the end. He just didn't have time to let it bother him. And then they were trying to find Rowena to cure Cas, and that had taken up more mind space, but now they didn't have any immediate threats coming after them so things were starting to sift back in through his subconscious. Things like just how bad it had gotten at the end. What he had done to the Stynes…what he had done to Cas and Sammy. Just thinking of it now made him sick to his stomach. He wasn't even entirely sure how he ever could have forgotten that. Seriously, he had almost killed his little brother and the angel who was like his other brother. What the hell was wrong with him?

Then his stupid brain had to pull up the image of Sam kneeling in front of him with tears in his eyes, the pictures of their mom and them as a happy family spread in front of him, as he was saying he was okay with Dean killing him if it would stop the effects of the Mark. If it would save Dean.

He couldn't help it, his legs gave out and he retched onto the concrete floor of the garage. Nothing came up bit bitter bile since he'd had nothing but beer and whisky for dinner the night before, but that didn't stop his stomach from heaving again and again.

Sam. His pain in the ass little brother. How the hell could Dean have allowed himself to get to the point where he almost killed him and then didn't think about it until a couple weeks later?

He spun around with a helpless growl and swung a fist at the wall. His knuckles split and blood smeared on the bricks and hurt like hell, but the fresh pain was a relief, sharp and real and more importantly now. He slumped against the wall, closing his eyes as he tried to breathe, clutching his smarting hand hard against his ribs as he tried to get ahold of himself, because he had to get ahold of himself. He couldn't afford to go off the rails now, and even though he wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and forget the world existed for a while, he didn't get that luxury. Besides, Cas was the one with the issues right now, and even if Dean didn't think he was qualified to help him, he also knew that he didn't want Sam to have to deal with both of their psych evals. And it wasn't like Dean hadn't gone through this crap before. He had been through hell after all—on both sides of he knife.

But it's not the same a voice inside his head taunted him. Because in hell, Alastair may have made you think you were carving up your brother sometimes, but you knew it wasn't true. Not really. It wasn't like standing over him with a scythe. It wasn't like beating your friend bloody and leaving him for dead.

"I know, dammit," Dean growled before he realized he was talking to the voice in his head. Crap, he really was crazy.

The door to the garage opened and he hurriedly climbed to his feet, hoping that Sam—for it had to be Sam—wouldn't notice he wasn't exactly put together that morning, nor the puddle of vomit that he hadn't gotten the chance to clean up yet.

Thinking of all that, he forgot about his bleeding hand until Sam came over to him and that was the first thing his eyes went to.

"Scraped it up on some glass," Dean offered swiftly, the lie easy. "Baby's all messed up."

Sam offered a small smile, that Dean knew was only there to hide the fact he knew Dean was lying. "I was just wondering if you wanted some breakfast."

Dean's stomach twisted hard and he was afraid for a second that he would vomit again. But he swallowed hard and forced the feeling down. "Nah, I'll get something in a little bit." He knew he should eat, but he just couldn't imagine putting food into his stomach right now.

Sam eyed him again, but thankfully didn't comment anymore. "I talked to Cas."

Dean inhaled deeply before he turned back toward the Impala, kneeling down to fully check out the damage to her nose. "How's he doing?"

"He's not any better," Sam said with a little hint in his voice that told Dean his little brother was feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I don't think he really feels like leaving his room, but I'll try him again later."

"Well, I don't blame him," Dean grunted as he pulled the crumpled grill off completely, his mouth twisting up as he wondered if he could manage to hammer it out. "I mean, I tried to kill him in the library. That's not exactly something you forget. With all the other crap he's been through lately, it's no wonder he's having flashbacks." He instinctively reached for a beer in the cooler nearby and cracked one open, already wishing for something harder.

"No, but it's not going to get any better unless you talk to him," Sam insisted. "What he went through with the attack dog spell wasn't much different from what you went through with the Mark, I think you could relate to him better on that…"

"Sam, no," Dean growled.

"Dean—"

"No!" Dean said more firmly as he surged to his feet, light-headed suddenly from his lack of sleep and food. He brushed it off, even though his heart was starting to beat faster, anxiety surging through his system. "I'm the last person Cas needs help from right now. I'll just give him another panic attack or something, and I sure as hell am not going to have a 'I was a cold-hearted killer anonymous' meeting with him."

"So what, you're just going to abandon him when he needs help?" Sam demanded, anger creeping into his voice.

That one cut deep, opening another bottomless pit of guilt that Dean tried vainly to shove to the back of his mind but kept resurfacing all the same. His stupid mistake with Gadreel that had nearly lost him his brother and forced him to throw Cas out when he was human and vulnerable.

"He's family, Dean," Sam was still saying. "Give him a chance. He can't get through this alone."

"And I don't want him to have to," Dean tried to protest, to get Sam to understand where he was coming from. Finally he just shook his head. "Dammit, Sam. Fine, we'll try doing some research or lunch later today. Try to get back into a normal schedule. That's probably the best way to go about it."

Sam seemed to accept that as reasonable because he nodded. "Alright, I agree. Are you gonna come in for breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry," Dean said, turning back to the Impala.

Sam sighed. "Dean, can you be honest with me for a minute?"

Dean huffed a breath and glanced over at his brother. "What now, Sam?"

"How are you doing?"

Dean looked at his brother for a long moment, knowing well enough Sam had heard him suffering from nightmares the night before; knew his bloody knuckles hadn't been caused by broken glass from the Impala, and knew he wasn't doing okay at all. For a minute, he almost caved, wondering why he even bothered hiding it, but the survival mechanism of denial kicked in at the last minute, causing one side of his mouth to push up in a very half-hearted smile.

"Oh, you know me, Sammy. I'm always fine." The he turned his attention back to the Impala.

Sam pressed his lips together in a thin line and shifted his feet like he did when he wanted to say something, but he just seemed to roll with it instead, even if the tick in his jaw told Dean he was pissed about it. "Okay, fine. I'm gonna start on some research."

"Alright," Dean said, not looking up until he heard the garage door close.

Then he kicked over his toolbox, tools scattering everywhere as he sank down with his back against Baby's side and tried to get ahold of himself.

~~~~~~~~

Later that day, Sam pretended everything was normal. Dean came in and showered after working on the Impala for several hours and he actually got Cas to come and sit in the kitchen for lunch, even though the angel had been somewhat reluctant. Sam made tomato and rice soup and grilled cheeses because it was comfort food—and because that was one of the few things he could make—and he didn't comment when Dean sat down at the table with a red-spotted bandage on his hand, or the fact that Cas tensed when the elder Winchester joined them. He just smiled and dished up soup and sandwiches and sat down across from his brother to eat. Just like it was a normal day.

But no one spoke, and Dean and Cas didn't even look at each other and Sam began to realize very quickly that this normalcy ploy was crap and that if he was ever going to get results out of either Dean or Cas, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands and hope for the best.

And the worst part of it was that seeing his brothers fall apart made him want to do the same, but he had to stay strong even though he was cracking on the inside. Because if he didn't help them, no one would.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel had wanted to at least say hello to Dean while they ate lunch together, but every time he started to look over at him, panic flared up inside his chest, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird, and he was afraid that if he tried to speak to Dean, he would just start to have a flashback again. So he was quiet instead and concentrated on each spoonful of soup, each bite of sandwich. It still tasted a bit like molecules, but wasn't so bad with his grace at such low power, and at least it gave him something to concentrate on. And the warmth seemed to comfort him and ease his anxiety a bit.

He wanted to maybe ask Dean and Sam if they needed help with research after lunch, but Dean left before he could, saying he had to run into town for some things for the Impala. From the look on Sam's face, Castiel figured he wasn't being entirely truthful, but he couldn't help but feel a little less awkward once Dean left.

Sam huffed a breath after Dean's retreat and turned to Cas. "How was your lunch?"

"It was good," Castiel told him, and that wasn't a lie. He had enjoyed it. "Do you…need help with research?" he asked hesitantly.

Sam smiled. "Sure, if you're feeling up to it." He cleared away the dishes, casting a look at Dean's plate that wasn't completely empty. "Where would you like to work?"

Castiel bit his lip, really wanting to go back to his room to curl up in the safety and comfort of the bed, but he also knew that if he never faced his problems, they would never go away.

"I—I think I would like to try the library," he told Sam firmly. "I can't avoid it forever, after all."

Sam seemed surprised, but nodded in agreement. "That's good, Cas. And remember, I'll be there if anything happens. And if you start feeling like you're going to have a flashback or a panic attack, all you have to do is take deep breaths and try to work through it."

Castiel nodded and got up, following Sam into the library. He hesitated slightly on the threshold, but when he wasn't suddenly slammed with the bloody memories that place held, he cautiously continued forward to take a seat at one of the tables. Maybe if he were ready for the flashbacks, they wouldn't be so hard to deal with.

"Okay," Sam said as he pulled a stack of books over and sat across the table from Castiel. "I've started looking at pretty much any old pre-Biblical works or references I can find to see if any of them offer up any information on the Darkness. So far, I haven't come up with much, but there's actually a lot more here than you'd think, so we may still find something useful."

Castiel nodded and pulled a book from the stack, eager to do something to help. Soon, he was concentrating so hard on the task in front of him, he forgot to be worried about having a panic attack.

About an hour in, Sam got up to make a pot of coffee and Castiel continued flipping through the current book he was checking out, stopping at a passage that had caught his eye as something that might be useful.

He heard footsteps come into the library, and turned to say something, expecting to see Sam there with the coffee. But it was Dean instead.

Castiel started and stood from his seat before he could stop himself with rational thinking, the chair clattering behind him. All he could see was Dean covered in blood, standing there with his gun. It didn't matter that in reality, it was just Dean standing there with a bottle of beer, probably checking to see if they needed help, Castiel's subconscious had already reacted, and the panic attack was settling in instantly. He staggered back against the bookcase, and gave a strangled "No, please," as Dean instinctively stepped forward to help.

He could only vaguely register Dean staggering backward himself, so many mixed emotions on his face before he turned and hurried from the room.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against the images that were blinding him. He clutched at his tight chest, knowing somewhere in his mind that he had to breathe, but he couldn't. There was too much blood. It was filling his lungs, choking him…

"Cas! Look at me! Look at me, Cas! Just breathe!"

Castiel shrunk away from the hands that had reached out for him, but they grabbed him by the elbows, steadying but insistent. "Cas, just breathe, remember? In—out—like that, okay? Try it. In—out."

He tried, but he couldn't get the breath to go in. He was just panting sharply, his chest only getting tighter. His fingers dug into his chest, in some vain hope that might do something, and heard a soft curse and suddenly hands were cupping the sides of his face, shaking him slightly as if to get his attention.

"Cas, can you try to repeat after me?" He didn't understand what was going on at first. Why should he repeat anything? "Cas, repeat after me, okay? One, two, five, eight, ten, four. Okay?"

Cas couldn't make sense of what was being asked, he just knew he couldn't breathe and he was panicking even more because of it.

"Cas!" A hard shake. "Repeat this: One, two, five, eight, ten, four…"

"One, t-two…" Castiel tried between his panting breaths.

"Five, eight, ten, four," Sam coaxed.

"F-five, eight…five, e-eight, ten, f-four…"

"Three, four, six, two, eight," Sam said. "Repeat that."

"Th-three, four, s-six, two, eight…" Miraculously, Castiel's breathing started to even out, the flashbacks, and the smell of blood, disappearing into his memories once again. He opened his eyes and saw Sam crouching in front of him, hands still on either side of Castiel's face. He was able to start taking deep breaths now, and he took several, matching Sam as he coaxed him, until he was finally left just shuddering slightly from the leftover adrenaline.

Sam smiled and moved his hands to grip Castiel's shoulders. "Doing okay now?"

Castiel nodded. "Y-yes, I think I am. How…the counting…"

Sam pulled back a bit to give him some space. "Came across that when I was researching PTSD. It's a trick to help deal with panic attacks. Your brain can't worry about panicking if it's too busy concentrating on something else, so saying numbers out of numerical order can trick the mind into forgetting about the panic attack."

Castiel cocked his head to one side, intrigued. "That…does make sense, I suppose. I did find it was easier to deal with everything when I was working on research as well. I don't…I don't know why my mind suddenly went back to the flashbacks when Dean walked in…" Dean. Castiel instantly felt terrible. He looked hesitantly up at Sam. "Dean…I-I should apologize…"

"Cas, he knows what you're going through," Sam told him gently. "He doesn't blame you for your involuntary reactions."

But Castiel couldn't get Dean's face out of his head; the real one, that he had seen before the elder Winchester had ran out of the library, probably to get Sam. Even though he knew Dean understood, that didn't mean Castiel's reaction didn't hurt him.

"Come on," Sam said, grunting slightly as he unfolded his tall body from the floor. "You good to stand?"

Cas nodded and allowed Sam to help him up, his legs still a bit wobbly.

"I—I think I would like to go back to my room now," Castiel said, voice slightly tinted with defeat. He had tried to get back to normal things. Unfortunately it hadn't worked out any different than before.

Sam seemed to see where his mind was, settling a broad hand between his shoulder blades. "Don't feel bad, Cas. Like I said before, you can't expect it to just get better overnight. This wasn't the last time you'll have a flashback either, but we're learning how to deal with them, right?"

Castiel nodded in agreement. "Yes. Thank you for all your help, Sam."

Sam smiled and shook his head as he pushed Castiel toward the dormitory ward. "That's what family does, Cas. They're there for each other."

The sentiment warmed Castiel's heart a bit, even if he wasn't sure he deserved it. 'Family' meant so much to the Winchesters that he wasn't sure he should truly fit into that category, but…he would be lying if he said that wasn't what he wanted most. He certainly thought of them as his brothers, especially considering how his angelic brethren treated him. Even the ones he thought he could trust, the ones who he had been close to, ended up betraying him.

"Don't feel ashamed to know when you've had enough, either," Sam continued as he followed Castiel back to his room. "It will probably be a while before you see any real progress, but don't get discouraged, and definitely don't give up, okay?"

Castiel nodded, even though at the moment he just felt bone weary. Sam glanced at Dean's laptop, which Castiel still hadn't returned to him, and then seemed to make a quick decision.

"Hey, Cas, why don't you just hang out in my room for a while so you can watch Netflix on my TV? Dean might need his laptop later."

"Oh, I don't want to impose," Castiel said, feeling sheepish, even though he was sort of terrified of the idea of just being cooped up alone with his thoughts and nothing to distract him. He wasn't even sure if he could lose himself in research again at that moment after what had just happened.

Sam smiled. "Don't worry about it, I'll be in the library all day anyway. Just relax."

Castiel reluctantly agreed and Sam disappeared for a minute, coming back with a steaming cup, which he put onto the side table.

"It's chamomile tea," he told Castiel. "It's supposed to have a calming effect. Not sure it will do anything for you, but I thought it would be better than giving you some more caffeine."

Castiel nodded in agreement and took the mug into his hands. "Thank you, Sam. Truly, I…I don't…" he swallowed hard, unable to find the words he wanted to say, but Sam seemed to understand anyway.

"Like I said, Cas. That's what family does."

Castiel slumped onto the bed, and Sam cued up the Netflix before leaving Castiel to himself for a while. Castiel drank the tea and became lost in the fake worlds of the TV shows, and allowed that to blanket him in a cocoon of false comfort as he tried his best to forget all about the outside world, and how his most recent panic attack might be affecting Dean.

~~~~~~~

Sam found his brother slumped at the table in the kitchen with a fresh fifth of whisky in front of him, and a half-full glass held loosely in his hand. Sam paused for a moment, gathering his strength before he came in and sat down across from his brother.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Dean gave no indication he was there, only shifted to toss back the rest of his drink before pouring another glass. From the level on the bottle, Sam figured it to be at least his fourth, and he refrained from running a hand over his face.

"Dean," he finally said, "You can't blame yourself…"

"Sam, do me a favor and stop being a damn broken record," Dean grunted, tossing back the new glass of whisky before slamming it down on the table. "I told you my being around Cas was only going to make it worse."

Sam held his hands up. "Okay, maybe you're right, but he also made some progress today. He was able to stay in the library for a while without having any panic attacks."

"Yeah, until you add the factor that actually makes the difference," Dean said bitterly, pouring another glass. "I can't do this to him, Sammy. I mean, I know it's exactly what I deserve, but hell, I just can't stand to see his reaction when I…" He shook his head and took another drink.

This time Sam retrieved the bottle before he could pour another one, getting a glower from his brother. "Okay, Dean, fine, you're a grown man, and I can't make you do anything. I just want you to know that Cas is feeling guilty too. It's not just you beating him up that he sees in his flashbacks. It's his memories from when he was cursed too. I think most of his issues are exacerbated by the guilt he's feeling for the uncontrollable rage he was forced to feel while under the spell. I think it scared him that he could do that without thinking. And you know how he feels now about not being in control of his body and mind, after what Naomi did to him." Sam swallowed hard, anger rising inside of him at the thought of what Cas' own brothers and sisters had done to him. Both in the past and more recently. "And don't forget, he also beat you up, which he's feeling bad for too."

"Yeah, and I had that coming," Dean insisted, running a hand tiredly over his face. "Look, Sammy…I know you're hoping my experience with the Mark will make it easy for me to relate to Cas, but I think that's the problem here. We've both gone through the same things, yeah, but in this case, I just don't think talking about our feelings is going to help, and it's certainly not going to change a damn thing." He stood and grabbed the bottle away from Sam, heading out.

Sam stood, "Dean, wait…"

"Gotta work on the car," Dean replied curtly and disappeared around the corner.

Sam sighed wearily, slumping against the kitchen doorway and running his hands over his face.

While he could see Cas making slow but steady progress—or at least the possible promise of progress—he had a feeling he was just watching Dean deteriorate further and further before his eyes.

~~~~~~~

Dean worked on the car all afternoon, painstakingly beating out Baby's dents, and adding new paint where it was needed. He'd bought new windows today and was now working on the process of putting those in. He had his music cranked high on the radio, trying to use it to drown out the thoughts in his head.

It was late by the time he was done, and even then he hadn't really finished everything, but that would give him something to do tomorrow. Sam hadn't even bothered to come out and see if he wanted dinner, which he was actually glad for, because he didn't want to eat anyway. His stomach was in too many knots still.

He cautiously entered the bunker, even though he was pretty sure Cas was holed up in his room somewhere. He found Sam asleep in the library, head propped on his arms over an open book. Dean swallowed hard as he hated himself for this extra burden he was putting on his brother. They never could catch a break, and now Dean couldn't even lift a finger to help their best friend through his troubled times, leaving all that responsibility up to his little brother when it had really been his fault.

He blinked and an image of him throwing Cas onto the floor of the library flashed behind his eyes. He inhaled sharply and hurried away before he woke Sam up. Cas wasn't the only one having flashbacks.

The door to Sam's room was slightly ajar, and Dean could hear the low murmur of the TV in there, probably Cas watching Netflix again. Like that would do anything to help.

He was about to pass by to his own room, when he heard a sharp gasp and an agonized cry. "Dean! Dean, I'm sorry!"

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, and he cautiously turned toward the door and pushed it open.

The dim flickering light from the television illuminated the bed and Dean could see that Cas was twisted up in a blanket, one hand clenched in a pillow as silent tears dripped from under his eyelids. "I'm so sorry," he pleaded. "I didn't mean to!"

Dean almost went forward to wake him up, but knew what the result of that would be, so instead, he bit the inside of his cheek so hard it bled, and spun on his heel like a coward and hurried to the bathroom where he turned on the shower and climbed in. He didn't even bother to make the water hot, deciding he'd rather shiver under the cold stream. It was more distracting anyway.

When he got out he went to his room and put his headphones on so he couldn't hear anything else. After he eventually drank himself into a stupor that night, the nightmares, if possible, were even worse than before.


	6. Chapter 6

It went on that way for the next few days. Sam was constantly awakened by the shouts from both Dean and Cas in the middle of the night as they suffered what must be horrible nightmares. He usually tried to wake Cas up, and the angel always came to, trembling and panicked, taking a few very long minutes to compose himself and figure out where he was and that he was safe. Dean, on the other hand, he didn't always wake up. When he would look in on his brother, seeing the perpetually half-empty bottle of whisky on the side table and Dean's body tense, sweat beading his brow, as he writhed on the bed, hands clenched into the sheets, he just couldn't always bring himself to wake him. He didn't know why. Dean needed help, but Sam knew that waking him from his nightmares wouldn't do a thing. It didn't matter if Dean was in a nightmare or not, he was still suffering and he was still remembering. Besides, one time when Sam had woken him up, he'd gotten a fist in the jaw, and then Dean's horrified expression when he realized what he'd done. It wasn't that that in itself was an uncommon occurrence, but Sam had a feeling Dean was remembering how he had beaten Sam at the Mexican restaurant right before the Mark was removed. That was why, no matter how much it hurt him to hear his brother's pain and not be able to do anything about it, Sam decided it was probably best just to let Dean drink himself into a stupor and wade through the nightmares himself. That was what Dean had always done, and as much as Sam hated it, he knew nothing he did or said was going to change that.

Cas was still at least progressing in minuscule ways, even though most of the time, he just stayed in his or Sam's room watching Netflix. He did try to help research though, but Dean made himself scarce when that happened so Sam wasn't sure if Cas was getting better at being around his brother or not. Now that the Impala was repaired, Sam knew Dean was driving into town to drink at the local bar, but he never said anything, even the one time Dean came back with a black eye. He knew he needed to instigate an intervention with his brother, he just wasn't sure how to go about it, and most of his time was taken up trying to get Cas back on his feet. It seemed like no matter what he did, Cas still had panic attacks and they never could know what would trigger them. Some days were just worse than others.

The only good thing that came out of all this was that Sam was so exhausted that when he did get to sleep it was mercifully dreamless. No nightmares for him at least.

And then he realized that Dean wasn't eating.

He wanted to kick himself for not realizing it before. Sure, they had been so busy and Dean and Cas had been avoiding each other, so Sam usually shared meals with Cas when the angel felt like he should eat, and sometimes he would leave stuff out for Dean or figure his brother was just either finding his own food when he got hungry or picking something up when he went on his excursions into town. Whenever he did put food directly in front of Dean it was only ever half eaten. But still, Sam should have noticed long before he did.

He only really noticed then because he figured it was time to go shopping again and was looking through their fridge and cupboard for what they were running out of. As he was poking through the fridge, he frowned as he came on a whole new package of bacon, unopened. Had Dean already gone shopping? But no, they had run out of bread that morning, and Dean would have picked some up if he had. As Sam investigated further he discovered that most of the food Dean exclusively ate was for the most part untouched. A sick feeling started in his stomach.

He had figured Dean's gaunt appearance lately was due to his lack of sleep, and that was probably part of it, but in addition to his dark eyes, his cheeks had a sunken look, and as Sam really thought about it, he hadn't seen Dean put much of anything into his stomach the past few days besides coffee, beer, whisky, and the occasional toast or bowl of cereal.

"Dammit, Dean," he muttered closing the fridge door.

"What did I do to offend you now?" Dean asked blandly and Sam turned around to see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Dean, have you been eating anything the last few days?" Sam asked.

Dean glowered at him. "What's it to you? Are you gonna ask if my BMs are regular too?"

"Dean, I'm just worried," Sam pleaded trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. "You're running yourself into the ground. You drink constantly, and you're not sleeping, the least you can do is feed yourself something halfway decent between your bouts of self destruction."

"Thanks, mom, I'll take that into account," Dean snarked, crossing to the fridge and pulling a beer out.

"Dean, please, at least eat something with that," Sam coaxed. "I'll make you some bacon and eggs."

"You know what, I would," Dean told him, popping the top off the beer and taking a long swig. "If every time I put something in my stomach it didn't want to instantly make a return visit the moment the crap in my head surfaces."

"Well, you don't seem to be having a problem keeping that down," Sam said scathingly, nodding to the beer.

Dean gave him a humorless smile. "Breakfast of champions, Sammy. Now get the hell off my case. I'm gonna go get some research done."

Sam opened his mouth, clenching his fists but couldn't think of anything to say. He knew how Dean got, and he also knew that if he didn't say exactly the thing that would get through to him, it would be worthless. Dean was the most stubborn human being in the world. It was times like this Sam really missed Bobby. He just couldn't turn a phrase like the older hunter could.

And Sam could really use some help right now. With an angel who would barely leave his room, and a brother who wouldn't eat, Sam had to figure his methods weren't working the way he wanted. Maybe he needed to rethink his tactics. Especially before it was too late, because things were only getting worse.

~~~~~~~

Castiel sighed as he finished another season of the police drama he was currently watching, looking toward the door to his room. He wanted to try to go out again, prove to himself that he could do it on his own volition without any problems, maybe get some research done. He thought that was what Sam and Dean were doing so maybe…his stomach clenched tightly at the thought of another encounter with Dean in the library but then, it had been days since his last one. Maybe this time it would be better. Sam did say that doing the same things that triggered his flashbacks, even though they might be hard, would eventually make them easier. That was the theory anyway. So far, Castiel seemed to have just as many panic attacks as he did before, but maybe…

Determined, he closed Sam's laptop, which he was borrowing, and slipped from the bed. His legs were a bit shaky as he made his way toward the library, focusing on calming his breathing, and he was doing well, he thought to himself. The panic wasn't overcoming him yet.

When he got to the library though, he saw Sam wasn't there after all. Dean was, though.

Castiel's breath hitched and he forced himself to breathe deeply, but was surprised to find that a flashback wasn't overcoming him. He cautiously stepped further into the library.

Dean was asleep in one of the leather chairs, a book, perched precariously in his lap, and an empty bottle of beer on the floor beside his foot. His breathing was fast and hitched every once in a while, his eyes moving quickly under his eyelids, and Castiel cautiously watched him for several seconds before he took a seat at the table, hoping he wouldn't wake Dean. He felt…rather good. He was in the library, with Dean, and he still hadn't had a flashback. Perhaps Sam had been right after all.

He turned to the stack of books Sam had left on the table still to be looked through and started on one. Soon he was involved in his task of looking into the Darkness, searching for any possible reference that could help them.

A sudden groan came from the corner and Castiel started, head whipping over to where Dean was sitting. He hadn't woken, but he was shifting in the seat, his head lolling to one side. The book slid from his lap and Castiel winced as it fell with a thump, but Dean didn't wake up, still obviously caught in a dream.

"N-no," he moaned. "Sammy, Cas? Sam!"

The cry ripped through Castiel's chest. He recalled the many, many times Dean had suffered nightmares after Hell. Sometimes, if Castiel had been able to at the time, he had slipped into the motel room the Winchesters were staying in and relieved him of his dreams for a while. But he wasn't sure he could do that anymore. Not like he used to.

"No!" Dean gasped, and Castiel saw him clutching his right arm, digging his fingers into the spot the Mark of Cain used to be, his fingernails leaving furrows in his flesh. He wondered vaguely where Sam was. He feared that Dean might hurt himself if he stayed in this dream too much longer, and he was already suffering…Castiel felt his panic start, but he couldn't stand to see his friend suffer either.

With a quick decisive move, he stood and went cautiously to Dean's side. "Dean?" he called, but the Winchester couldn't hear him through the dream. "Dean?"

Castiel bit his lip as Dean continued digging into his arm with his fingers, almost drawing blood. Castiel reached out cautiously for Dean's shoulder. "Dean, wake up."

The instant his hand settled on Dean's shoulder the hunter's eyes flicked open and he struck out with a cry. Castiel wasn't even sure what hit him at first, he just knew he was suddenly on the ground, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and all of a sudden…

Blood, pain, Dean was lost to him now, no please, Dean! Not like this!

"Cas? Oh god, Cas, I didn't mean to…"

Castiel's eyes opened and he blinked, looking up and seeing Dean. His breath hitched, and he tried to struggle backwards, but his head and back hit something and he could go no further. But then he realized Dean wasn't holding a blade, and his eyes were horrified and pained instead of being full of hate and bloodlust.

Castiel forced air into his lungs and tried the trick Sam had taught him. "F-five, ten, th-three t-two…" he started counting under his breath.

"Cas, I'm sorry," Dean was saying as Castiel was able to calm himself slowly, and come back to the here and now. He realized then that Dean was trembling, crouched several feet away from the angel. Sweat was beading on his brow and he looked like he was about to throw up.

Footsteps pounded in, and Sam hurried into the room with several grocery bags, his coat still on like he had just gotten in the door. "Cas? Dean? What happened?" he threw the bags onto the table and crouched. "Cas, are you alright?"

Castiel realized for the first time that the blood he tasted was real, dripping from the corner of his mouth where Dean's punch had split his lip. He touched it, feeling it start to heal slowly. "I-I'm fine." The panic was still fluttering in his chest, but he was doing everything he could to push it back. To not think of the memory that wanted to come to the forefront. Dean needs help, he told himself as a distraction. Dean is obviously unwell.

"Dean?" Sam asked, turning to his brother again, who was still trembling and was now breathing heavily.

"Sam, I—I, Cas, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he babbled, seeming not to be himself. Sam seemed to realize this, looking between the two of them for clarification.

Castiel raised himself shakily to his feet with the help of the table. "He had a nightmare. I-I woke him."

Sam's face registered understanding and he got his arm under Dean's shoulder to help him up. "Come on, Dean, you need rest, let's go get you into bed."

"I hit him," Dean muttered to himself before he collapsed again and started vomiting, just barely missing Sam's shoes, but kneeling in it himself. He looked to only have bile in his stomach, and Sam cursed as he tried to keep Dean from faceplanting in it too. Which was easier said than done, because as soon as Dean finished retching, his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped against his brother.

"Dammit," Sam spat. "Dammit, Dean!"

"Is he alright?" Castiel asked, feeling completely helpless.

"No," Sam grunted as he grabbed a napkin off the table and wiped his brother's mouth with it. "He's practically starving himself, and I should have…"

"Sam," Castiel said gently, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's not your fault. He needs to be in bed right now."

Sam nodded, and then looked up at the angel. "Can you help me?"

Castiel nodded and even though he was still a little shaky himself, he helped Sam get Dean into the bed, then went to get a washcloth while Sam removed Dean's jeans that had gotten some of the vomit on them. When Cas came back he had replaced them with sweat pants and was struggling to get Dean's flannel overshirt off which had also been soiled. Castiel moved to help, not seeming to have any adverse effects being around Dean in his current state, and only when they had gotten the outer layers off of Dean did they realize how thin he looked. Even through his t-shirt, his ribs looked more pronounced and Sam cursed again.

"How long as he not been eating?" Castiel asked, but already knew the answer, as he handed the washcloth over to Sam so he could start washing his brother's face.

"At most, a week, I don't know for sure," Sam said with a weary sigh. "I mean, he's eaten a little here and there, but nothing substantial. He's been drinking too much. And now he has a fever too, dammit."

"Can I help in any way?" Cas asked, feeling somewhat at a loss for what to do, and at the same time unable to help the guilt that spread through him as he considered that he was partly responsible for Dean's condition.

Sam offered him a smile. "I think the best thing is to let him rest, Cas. When he wakes up we'll work on getting him fed. Until then, though, we should probably give him some quiet and take this time to hide the liquor," he added a bit bitterly.

Castiel nodded reluctantly, still watching Dean's face. Pale, yet slightly flushed across his cheekbones that seemed more prominent than usual. His eyes were so dark underneath, they looked like he'd gotten punched in the nose. Dean shivered slightly and Sam spread a light blanket over him.

"Come on," Sam nodded to Cas and the angel reluctantly followed him out the door, which Sam left half open in order to hear Dean if he woke or needed anything.

"I'm sorry for what happened," Castiel felt the need to say. "I shouldn't have tried to wake him I suppose."

"No, Cas, you can't blame yourself for that," Sam said. "Dean was running headlong toward a collapse anyway, it's my fault really for not realizing how bad off he was sooner."

Another stab of guilt. "And that's because you were wasting your attentions on me."

Sam spun around, hand running through his hair. "No, Cas, you can't think that! I didn't waste any time on you. You're just as important to me as Dean, and actually a lot easier to deal with." He gave a half chuckle at that and Castiel offered a bemused look. "Besides, Cas, you're getting better. You didn't have a full blown panic attack this time, and you got out of it yourself."

Castiel cocked his head to one side, considering. "I-I suppose I did."

Sam gave him a tired smile. "That's actual progress."

Not that it made Castiel feel much better because whatever progress he might have made, Dean had just slipped backwards. He suddenly felt weary.

"I think I want to lay down for a while," he said.

Sam frowned slightly, but didn't seem to argue. "Okay, Cas. Just let me know if you need anything."

"I-I'll try to help research again later," he promised. But the thought of it made his stomach clench. Every time he researched, he seemed to have a flashback or something seemed to happen. He sighed deeply and looked up at Sam before he went back to his own room. "Let me know if you…need help with Dean. I'll do whatever you need. If you need to rest, I can watch over him."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Cas, but I think I'm good. I'm gonna get a little more research done while Dean's resting."

Castiel nodded and went back toward the dormitory wing before looking over his shoulder again. "Thank you, Sam. For all your help."

"That's what family does, Cas."

Warmth spread through his chest, dissipating the queasiness slightly. He would forever be grateful for the Winchesters' kindness. He just hoped that some day he would learn how to deserve it.

~~~~~~~

Dean swam through delirium, images flashing in front of his face. All he could see was Cas cowering away from him. His fist slamming into the angel's face over and over again until the countenance of his best friend, his surrogate brother, was a swollen mess of blood, blue eyes staring up at him with fear, defeat, and a look of betrayal.

But he couldn't stop hurting. The Mark on his arm, wanted blood, and he couldn't sate it, no matter how much he killed, he couldn't rest.

He finally forced open the hand he had clenched around the collar of Cas' shirt, and the angel collapsed lifelessly to the ground. Dean screamed in agony and collapsed to his knees beside the figure of his friend. How many more would die? How many more of those he cared about?

"Your brother will be the last," He heard Cain saying in his head. "That's the one you won't survive."

But Dean already knew that. He didn't want to survive killing Cas. If the Mark wanted blood, he would give it his own. He would carve it from his arm if he had to.

Dean swam through the delirium, staggering to his feet, reaching for a knife nearby. He took it up in his trembling hand and sank to the ground, his back pressed into a corner since his legs wouldn't support him. The knife shook in his grip and it took him a long time to get it where it needed to go, but he finally dug it into the flesh around the Mark.

A flare of hot pain shot up his arm to his shoulder and down to the tips of his fingers. He gasped out loud, clenching his teeth against the agony, but kept going. He would cut the Mark off; he had to. Give it blood, give it what it wanted from his own veins, before it took another life.

Suddenly a voice cut through his agony.

"Dean? Dean! Oh god, Dean stop!"

Sammy.

"No," Dean breathed, looking around. He saw his brother's face swim before his eyes, saw the pain there, felt hands grasping his wrists, keeping him still. No, not Sammy!

He thought he had stopped, but was he killing Sammy now? First Cas, and now his baby brother? Dean couldn't…he couldn't even think of it, but images flashed in front of his eyes of him slamming fists into Sam's face, his body, holding a scythe above his head…

"No!" he cried, and dug the knife into his arm again, this time trying to get it under the Mark completely, to slice it out of his body…

"Dean! Stop!" The hand he held the knife with was suddenly twisted viciously, nerves responding and dropping the knife. He yelped in pain, and all of a sudden the world seemed to come into focus, and he gasped, looking up and seeing his little brother's horrified face, locked on him. He felt suddenly lightheaded and heard a dripping sound. He looked down at himself and saw only red.

~~~~~~~

Sam had just taken a break for food when he heard a thumping from the dormitory wing, and a strangled cry. He instinctively knew it was Dean, and dropped his sandwich material to hurry toward the room, wondering if Dean may have tried to get out of bed and was still too weak. Or maybe he had fallen out in the course of a fevered nightmare.

However, what he came across was the last thing he had expected.

At first he wondered where Dean was, because he certainly wasn't in the bed, though the blanket was trailing down on the floor like he had crawled out of it. Likewise the side table was shifted slightly as if he had run into it, but it didn't take Sam long to detect Dean's shuddering breaths from somewhere behind him.

He turned swiftly to see Dean cowering in one corner of the room. First all he registered was that Dean was holding a knife and there was blood everywhere. He almost reached for the gun he wasn't wearing to look for a threat before he watched in growing horror as Dean dug the knife further into his own arm—the right one, right in the spot the Mark of Cain had been.

Sam was on his knees in front of him in a second, grabbing his wrists. "Dean! Oh god, Dean stop!"

"No," Dean whimpered, pulling halfheartedly against him. "No!" He twisted in Sam's grasp and dug the blade further into his already mutilated forearm, looking like he was going to slice a hunk of his flesh out.

"Dean! Stop!" Sam swiftly twisted Dean's wrist hard enough to make him drop the knife. It worked even though Dean yelped in pain. Sam hurriedly started to tear his flannel shirt off to staunch the bleeding in Dean's arm. Bile rose in his throat as he saw the mess Dean had made of himself and terror made him shake as he thought of what might have happened if he had just been a minute later. He covered it with the shirt, wrapping it tightly.

"Dammit, Dean," he murmured, tears sliding down his cheeks as he forced the urge to vomit aside. He had to be there for his brother, he couldn't afford to be sick right now.

Dean seemed to be coming to at least, blinking up between Sam and the blood that was covering his lap and dripping on the floor. "S-Sammy?" A look of pain and bewilderment came over him.

"God, Dean," Sam choked out and simply pulled his brother against his chest, holding him as tightly as he could, feeling his slightly depleted body collapse against him.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Dean whispered to him, and Sam didn't think it was for this most recent occurrence he was saying it.

"It's okay," Sam whispered back, trying not to sob. "I'll help you, Dean, I'm here, it's okay."

Dean's good hand clenched in his shirt and Sam felt his breath hitch as well. He knew he had to get Dean's arm taken care of, but at that moment, all he could do was sit on the floor and hold his brother, because right then that was what they both needed.

~~~~~~~

Castiel had dozed into a fitful sleep while watching Netflix again, but he jerked awake as he heard Sam shouting.

"Dean! Oh god, Dean stop!"

He lay in bed, breathing heavily, and wondered for a moment if he had dreamed it, but then a few moments later, he heard Sam shout again. "Dean! Stop!"

Terror clenched in Castiel's chest. His muddled thoughts halfway between waking and sleep left him with the conclusion that, just like in his dreams, Dean was still suffering from the Mark and that he could be hurting Sam. Castiel needed to help. He couldn't let something like that happened to either brother.

He threw the blanket aside and forced his shaking limbs over the side of the bed, almost falling because his knees were so weak. He focused on breathing as he made his way out of the room and down the hall toward Dean's room where the sounds were coming from.

As he got there though, he didn't see a rabid Dean attacking his younger brother, all he saw was the two of them huddled in a corner of the room, Sam's arms wrapped around Dean as the elder brother shook, saying "I'm so sorry," over and over.

"It's okay. I'll help you, Dean, I'm here. It's okay," Sam murmured, his voice thick and wavering with emotion.

That was when Castiel saw Sam's flannel shirt wrapped around Dean's right arm, and the blood seeping from it into Dean's shirt as he cradled it to his chest. Castiel's breath caught in his throat as he saw the bloody knife lying a few feet away and he was suddenly overcome with the very violent and human need to vomit. He wanted to offer assistance, but he just…couldn't. He spun around quickly and hurried to the bathroom just in time for the contents of his stomach to expel themselves. After that was finished he sunk weakly to the bathroom floor, trembling, and all of a sudden chilled. Why did he feel so human right now?

Not wanting Sam to see him like this, knowing the hunter needed to be with his brother right now and not some broken excuse for an angel, Castiel forced himself to his feet, flushing the toilet and turning to the sink to wash his face and rinse his mouth. Then he staggered back to his own room, and closed the door, pressing his back to the wall and sliding down to sit with his knees pulled to his chest.

He knew what had happened, the signs were obvious, after all. Dean had hurt himself. He had been so distressed at Castiel's reaction and his own obvious guilt that, coupled with his fevered delirium, he had likely thought the Mark still needed to be removed. Castiel's stomach lurched again with the thought, but he was able to breathe through the feeling this time. Still, it didn't make the thought any less horrible. He didn't even know how bad it was. There had been a lot of blood on he floor and soaked into Sam's makeshift bandage. What if Dean had hurt himself badly?

Castiel wrapped his arms around his drawn up legs and buried his face in his knees, trying to breathe through the crippling emotions surging through him. How could he have driven his friend, one he saw as a brother, to that?

Castiel slumped to one side, propping a shoulder in the corner of the room, arms wrapped tightly around his aching chest. He wondered how just feeling things could hurt so much?

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sam eventually snapped himself back to reality as he felt a warm wetness seep into his shirt. He pulled back slightly, moving his hands to Dean's shoulders to keep physical contact with him, as he looked down at the shirt he had wrapped around Dean's arm and saw it was almost soaked through with blood. He swallowed down bile and tried to keep his voice from trembling as he put a hand on his brother's face to get him to look at him.

"Dean? Hey, we need to get your wound taken care of, okay?"

He could tell by Dean's glassy eyes and the warmth of his skin that he still wasn't with him one hundred percent but he was at least lucid enough to realize what he had done.

"O-okay," Dean murmured.

"Can you stand?" Sam asked, already getting to his feet, slipping a shoulder under Dean's uninjured arm and wrapped his arm around Dean's back as a support. Dean groaned, but tried to help as much as possible as Sam pulled him upright. They both staggered, but Sam held on to his brother tightly and kept him upright. He led him slowly to the door and they made their way across the hall to the bathroom where the first aid kit was. Dean went willingly enough, and Sam had to wonder whether his willingness stemmed from being fevered and mostly delirious, or just the fact that Dean was finally admitting he needed help—even if he would never say it out loud. He really hoped it was the latter.

He set Dean down on the toilet and rummaged in the cupboard for the first aid kit. Dean was already sagging by the time he turned back around and Sam reached out to grasp his shoulder, propping him up.

"Hey, just stay with me a minute, we need to stop the bleeding."

Dean grunted but didn't protest as Sam took his wounded arm and pulled it away from where Dean had tucked it against his chest. He swallowed hard as he saw the blood had seeped into Dean's shirt, sticking the fabric to his skin. Dean had lost an awful lot of blood.

"Dean?" Sam said and his brother's eyes met his, clouded with pain and just simply a lost expression. Sam's heart clenched in his chest. "You…you lost a lot of blood. We may need to—"

"No hos'ptl," Dean slurred.

Sam bit his lip. "Dean…."

"No," Dean insisted, reaching out with his good hand to grab Sam's wrist. "They'll think I…meant…to do this." He winced as Sam applied more pressure to the bandage, not wanting to admit he was delaying the moment he would have to look at it. Sam met his brother's eyes seriously.

"You didn't, did you?" Sam asked softly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "You didn't mean to?"

Dean blinked, some indignation mixing with his other emotions. "Wasn' like….that. Thought I…thought I still had the Mark. Thought I'd hurt you…Cas…Needed it gone."

Sam ducked his head and took a deep breath to steady himself. "O-okay. Okay, Dean, don't worry, I believe you. You've got a pretty bad fever too. I—I shouldn't have left you alone…"

"Hey," Dean said, squeezing his wrist again. "Jus' patch me up…Florence."

Sam huffed a humorless laugh and nodded. "Alright. Just…here, keep pressure on this." He moved Dean's good hand to his arm and pressed his palm into the shirt that bound it. Dean winced and gritted his teeth, but pressed as much as he could. Dean didn't seem to have a lot of strength, Sam noticed with worry, but he quickly washed his hands in scalding water from the sink and worked to set out the first aid stuff he would need. He didn't have time to boil water, but he found the bottle of whisky they kept for 'medical purposes' in the kit and poured some into a bowl to sterilize the suture kit.

Finally, he was set up and couldn't delay the inevitable another minute.

"Okay, just hold as still as possible," Sam told his brother and positioned Dean's arm over the sink before he started to unwrap the bandage. Dean hissed as the fabric caught on the open wound, and it was exposed to the air. Sam felt another wave of nausea wash over him, but swallowed it down. This wasn't the first time he'd had to stitch Dean up. It just seemed different when it had been a monster to carve him up instead of…himself. He took a moment to assess the wound, even though it was still bleeding pretty badly. It was deep, but thankfully, not as bad as it could have been. Sam had stopped Dean before he had done any irreparable damage.

"How—how's it look?" Dean asked hesitantly, not bothering to look at his own wound.

"You've had worse," Sam told him with a quick smile. "Gonna need a buttload of stitches though, so sit tight."

Dean huffed. "Do I get any of that whisky?" he asked halfheartedly.

Sam clenched his jaw. "No, not this time. After this, you're gonna get some food in your stomach, and if you can keep it down, you can have some pain meds."

Dean didn't reply, just licked his lips and nodded sullenly. Sam braced himself and pulled out the bottle of peroxide. "Okay, I'm gonna wash the wound out." He didn't bother to say it was going to hurt. Dean knew that well enough and he braced himself accordingly.

Sam poured a liberal amount of the liquid over the wound and felt every muscle in Dean's body tense as he didn't even try to muffle his agonized shout. Sam winced in sympathy, and let the peroxide stay in the wounds for a few seconds before he took up some gauze and dabbed at them, trying to get some of the excess blood away so he could better see what he was dealing with. There were three long cuts just under Dean's elbow. Sam estimated stitches in his head, and knew this was going to be a long session. He glanced at his brother's pale face, sweat streaming down his head and neck that had nothing to do with the fever, his eyes closed.

"Hey," Sam told him gently, reaching out to clasp the back of his neck briefly. "It'll be over soon."

"Don' make promises y'can' keep," Dean forced out.

Sam bit his lip but went to work. He took up the needle and thread and started on the long process of stitching up the wounds. Dean slumped further against the counter as he went, and Sam almost hoped he would just pass out, but Dean was hanging on, so he decided to talk instead.

"I know I don't need to tell you how bad this is, Dean," he said quietly, shifting uncomfortably.

Dean grunted. "I know."

Sam waited before he continued. "I know you're suffering. I know the Mark left you with some serious crap, but Dean, you know you don't have to do this alone, right?"

"Y'had to take care of Cas," Dean protested.

"Yes," Sam agreed. "But that doesn't mean I can't take care of both of you. Dean, you need just as much help as Cas; I mean, hell, you haven't even eaten. You've been living off liquor for a week! Between that and the not sleeping, it's no wonder you drove yourself to a collapse."

"Didn't collapse," Dean protested indignantly.

"Dude, you threw up on yourself and fainted," Sam told him blandly.

"Don' sugar coat it," Dean muttered.

"My point is, Dean, that you obviously can't keep going like this. If you can't take care of yourself, then you need to let me help you. And you need to let Cas in too. Because the two of you are just feeding off each other's issues and making it worse for both of you."

"I hurt him," Dean said quietly.

Sam shook his head. "He woke you when you were having a nightmare. You did the same thing to me the other night."

"I also beat both of you bloody when I had the Mark," Dean said, looking up at Sam hopelessly. "Almost killed you both. Wouldn't…wouldn't have lived with that."

Sam sighed as he tied off one of the sutures. "But you didn't, and you won't now. Dean, taking a swing at one of us when you're delirious isn't the same thing; you can't blame yourself for that. It's just part of dealing with your PTSD, not resurgences of the Mark. And for God's sake, you can't starve yourself to death!"

Dean looked down at the floor, quiet for a long time as Sam finished the sutures and took up some more gauze to clean the excess blood off the wound. He looked at Dean's bloody clothes and sweaty complexion.

"Hey, why don't you take a shower before I bandage this up? It will probably make you feel better."

Dean hesitated but nodded finally. Sam ran the shower, lukewarm to help with his fever, and then helped Dean off with his bloody shirt.

"Can't stand," Dean muttered with embarrassment as Sam helped him up to move to the shower.

"It's okay, you don't have to," Sam assured him, and wordlessly helped him with the rest of his clothes and settled him into the bottom of the shower, making sure soap and washcloths were within reach. He could tell that Dean was trying not to be mortified at his helplessness, so he busied himself with cleaning up the first aid stuff apart from what he would need for the bandages. "Hey, you gonna be okay in there for a second while I get you some clean clothes?"

"Yeah," Dean grunted and Sam hurried to Dean's room, stopping as he saw the blood again. He bit his lip and hurriedly found some rags to clean it up with, taking the knife and every other sharp object out of Dean's room and putting them in his own—just in case. He didn't think Dean would hurt himself purposefully, but he wasn't sure if he wouldn't have another delirious nightmare. He then hurried to the kitchen to grab a package of saltines and some Gatorade, figuring that he would start Dean off small to make sure he could keep the food down first.

He gabbed Dean fresh clothes on his way back to the bathroom and was somewhat relieved to see his brother hadn't passed out and drowned in the shower.

The shower seemed to have helped him a bit at least, because Dean assured him he could dress himself and waved Sam off. He was slow drying off and dressing, but Sam let him do it himself, though had to help him get his shirt over his head. Then he quickly bandaged Dean's arm, padding it with gauze. Dean still winced, and Sam wished he could give him some pain meds now, but knew they would only make Dean sick if he didn't get something into his stomach first.

Dressing himself seemed to have worn Dean out, and he let Sam help him back to his room, breathing heavily by the time Sam carefully propped him back up in bed. A new sheen of sweat had broken out on Dean's brow from the effort and Sam knew he was suffering from the blood loss, but it hadn't been quite as bad as he had feared either, so he was at least comfortable with the fact that he probably wouldn't have to take Dean to the hospital as long as he was able to get him to keep some food down.

"Okay, now you're gonna eat something," Sam told him firmly, opening the package of saltines and offering them to Dean.

His brother groaned. "Now?"

"No arguments," Sam told him firmly. "Your ribs are actually sticking out. And you weren't exactly a string bean before, Dean."

Dean glared at him indignantly. "Shut up."

"Well, you weren't. You always had a little extra from all the bad diner food and pie you insist on eating."

"I'm fighting fit!"

"Sure, Dean."

"At least I eat man food, bitch," Dean grunted.

"Whatever, jerk," Sam replied, unable to help the small smile of relief that spread across his face. At least Dean was feeling well enough to offer retorts. He reached for the Gatorade and opened it before handing it to his brother. "Drink this too."

"Yes, mom," Dean snarked, but finally took the bottle to sip from, and nibbled on several crackers under Sam's scrutiny. He was able to manage at least ten crackers before he started to feel a little queasy and Sam let him stop there, handing him a couple Tylenols to help with the pain.

"Thank you," Sam told him after he had swallowed the pills.

Dean narrowed his eyes at him with confusion. "Why are you thanking me? You saved my ass."

Sam shifted in the chair. "Just…thank you for letting me help. I hate it when you think you need to suffer in silence."

"Oh, god," Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. "If I knew you were going to make this a chick flick moment…"

Sam snorted and took the bottle of Gatorade away from Dean, setting it back on the side table. "Just don't forget you have people who care, Dean. Family isn't a burden." Now if he could only get Cas to realize that too.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, settling back into bed with a slight wince. "Whatever, Sammy. I'm too tired for that now though. Let me sleep."

Sam smiled, recognizing Dean's version of acceptance when he heard it. "Alright. Goodnight, jerk."

"Night, bitch," Dean mumbled, and was asleep within a second, dead to the world.

Sam pulled a blanket over him and then returned to the chair he had pulled over next to the bed. Tonight, he would watch over his brother. Tomorrow, he would start to repair him.

~~~~~~~~

Sam hadn't realized he had dozed off, his head propped against his arms on Dean's bed, until Dean's phone alarm went off at seven a.m. He jerked upright and scrambled to turn it off, glancing over at his brother who was still unconscious, the alarm having done nothing to wake him up. Sam sighed in relief, glad Dean was finally getting some uninterrupted sleep. He reached over to feel his forehead and was relieved to find that his fever had lessened during the night, now only a low-grade one.

Sam yawned and stood from the chair, cracking his back, before he reached over to move Dean's blanket aside and check his arm. A little blood had seeped through the bandage, but he wouldn't bother with that until Dean woke later. Right now, his getting rest was the most important thing.

Sam tucked the blanket back around his brother more snugly, and Dean didn't even shift, just continued snoring lightly. Sam had to smile and shake his head. He knew Dean was a long way from being fully recovered, but he couldn't help but feel that last night's episode—though living hell—had instigated the breakthrough they needed. At the very least he was hoping to get Dean to see sense now.

He crept from the room, realizing he was starving. He decided to see if Cas was up and wanted breakfast before he went to the kitchen to find some for himself.

Cas' door was closed, so he tapped it a couple times. "Cas?" he asked quietly.

There was no reply, and Sam didn't want to wake him if he was sleeping, so he quietly opened the door to check.

But Cas wasn't in bed. Sam frowned, wondering if he had maybe gone to the kitchen already, or to the library, but Cas hardly left his room unless coaxed these days, which made his absence odd.

Then Sam heard a soft noise from behind the door and slipped into the room, looking behind it.

"Cas!" he gasped, and crouched beside the angel who was curled up on his side in the corner, shaking slightly. Guilt instantly spread through Sam. He had been so occupied with Dean last night that he hadn't even thought to check on Cas. The angel must have had a nightmare or a panic attack and Sam hadn't been there to help him out of it.

"Cas, hey, it's alright," Sam coaxed as he reached out carefully to settle a hand on Cas' shoulder. The angel started at Sam's touch, looking up at him with a tortured expression. Sam's stomach flipped. "Cas? What's wrong?"

"Where's Dean?" Cas asked, trying to get up. "Is he alright? I—I saw, I thought…I'm sorry, it's all my fault." Cas buried his face in his hands, his body shuddering even more.

Sam sat there, not knowing what to do for a second before he took Cas' shoulders in firm grip. "Cas, hey, look at me." When the angel finally raised his head with the same stricken expression, Sam swallowed down his anxiety. "What did you see? A dream? A flashback?"

Cas shook his head. "N-no, I…I heard you shouting, I think, and I went to see…" He swallowed hard, his shaking only getting worse. "There was blood, and Dean's knife…He…" he looked up at Sam with pained eyes. "He hurt himself, didn't he?"

Sam stomach clenched as he realized Cas had seen what had happened last night. "Cas, why didn't you come talk to me last night if you were worried?" he asked.

"I didn't want to make Dean worse," Cas whispered, eyes glistening and red rimmed. "I already…I already did too much."

"Cas," Sam sighed and moved to sit down next to the angel with his back against the wall. "It wasn't your fault Dean did that. He was delirious and he thought he still had the Mark so he tried to…to cut it off," he finished quickly, bile rising in his throat still at the thought. "But I caught him in time, and he's fine now. He's sleeping off the fever, and when he wakes up I'm going to start getting him fed again. Work on getting him better, just like you."

Cas was silent for a few moments, trying to get ahold of his emotions. "He's—he's okay?" he asked after a while.

Sam nodded. "He will be. I'm sure of it. You both will be."

Cas hugged himself, taking several deep breaths. "Sometimes it feels like I never will be okay."

"I know," Sam said softly, settling a comforting hand on the angel's shoulder. "Believe me, I know. But having people to help you thought it really does help. And it does get better. It may take a long time, but it does get better."

Cas closed his eyes, his arms tightening around his ribcage. "Thank you, Sam…for…for helping me. I don't know what I would…"

"Hey," Sam said gently, and wrapped his arm around Cas' shoulders, pulling the angel against his side in a half-hug. "Like I said. That's what family is for."

Cas was only stiff for a second before he sagged into Sam's offered support. "I want to help Dean in any way I can," the angel said.

"Well, we'll start there then," Sam said kindly, ruminating on what the best option would be as he and Cas sat against the wall quietly for a few more minutes.

~~~~~~~~

Dean woke slowly, slightly disoriented. He blinked several times in confusion, but eventually realized he was in his own room. He groaned and looked over at the clock, surprised to see it was already 10:30 in the morning.

"Damn," he muttered, bringing his hand up to rub sleep from his eyes. He stopped halfway there, though, his arm twinging painfully. His breath hitched and he looked down at the white gauze wrapped around his arm beneath his elbow, several spots of blood seeping through.

The memory flooded back painfully. It wasn't exactly clear, but he was pretty sure he had tried to cut his arm up last night, thinking the Mark was still there. He swallowed hard, feeling queasy at the thought and quickly settling his arm back into his lap.

He tried to pull himself upright, but his body felt like it weighed a million pounds, and his head felt light as he raised it from the pillow. He fell back with a moan, already exhausted, closing his eyes.

The door open then, and he cracked his eyes a bit to see Sam standing there, peeking in at him.

"S'mmy?" he groaned.

"Dean, you're awake," Sam greeted, relief in his voice as he came into the room to sit on the side of the bed. Dean suffered him to feel his forehead since he couldn't put up a fight anyway, and was way too tired to care at the moment. "How do you feel?" his younger brother asked anxiously.

"Like crap," Dean muttered. "Thirsty."

"I'll bring you something in a minute," Sam promised him. "Let me see your arm first."

Dean swallowed hard, but shifted his arm out from under the blankets. Sam hesitated only slightly before he grabbed Dean's elbow and gently started to peel the gauze away. Dean didn't want to look at it, but he also wanted to know how bad he had hurt himself so he kept his eyes on his arm as Sam revealed the wound. It turned out not to be as bad as he feared. There were three deep wounds gouged into his flesh, but they were held together with the neat stitches Sam had put in the night before.

"Doesn't look terrible," Sam offered with a small smile. "I'll go get some fresh gauze."

Pretty soon, Sam had cleaned the discharge from the wounds and wrapped them in a clean bandage.

"How about something to eat?" Sam asked as he cleaned the dirty bandages up.

Dean gave him a longsuffering look. "You really are determined to shove food in my face, aren't you?"

"I'm entitled," Sam informed him as he was leaving the room. "This is an intervention after all. It would be nice if you cooperated though."

Dean huffed, but waited for Sam to come back with a bottle of water and a cup of something hot.

"Chicken noodle," Sam informed him as he handed the mug and spoon to Dean. "It should be easier on your stomach."

Dean accepted the mug and tried to find the best way to eat. His right arm hurt too much to move, so he had to hold his spoon awkwardly in his left hand, hoping he wouldn't get soup all over his bed.

"Need some help?" Sam asked, half teasingly.

"Bite me," Dean snapped, getting a successful spoonful to his mouth. Though his stomach had initially been unhappy with the idea of eating, he actually found himself feeling better after the first few spoonfuls. Sam watched him for a few minutes before he spoke.

"Dean, we need to talk," Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy, can't you wait until I'm a little better before we do this?"

"No," Sam said firmly. "And it's not about you. Not really, anyway."

"Then what?" Dean asked, turning to meet his brother's gaze.

"Cas," Sam said, lowering his voice as if the angel might be nearby. "Last night he saw what you…did…and he blames himself for upsetting you. He thinks he drove you to it."

"That's crap," Dean said, but not without a flare of guilt that he had upset Cas with his delirious actions.

"I know that," Sam said gently. "But Cas is still walking on pins and needles here. And so are you."

"What?" Dean asked, frowning.

Sam sighed, pressing his lips into a thin line. "You've both been avoiding each other like the plague, and if you think that's going to work, I think the fact that you've both only gotten worse is testament enough that it's a terrible plan."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Talk to him," Sam insisted. "He wants to help you too, Dean. I think if both of you just sit down and talk about the problems you're having you can both help each other. Or at least learn not to take offense if the other reacts badly to something you do, because none of it is a conscious thing, except you two avoiding each other because you're afraid that whatever you do is going to upset the other."

Dean stirred his soup idly; the memory of Cas cowering away from him, thinking that Dean meant the angel harm, flashed through his mind. He didn't want that to happen again. And maybe Sam was right, he thought reluctantly. He wasn't great at the whole talking thing, but if it would help, then, maybe it was time to try it.

"Okay, fine," Dean said finally. "I'll talk to him."

"You will?" Sam actually looked surprised.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I mean, whether it makes it better or worse, I guess we'll know, right?"

Sam smiled at him. "That's good, Dean."

"Whatever," Dean mumbled, uncomfortable, as he turned back to his soup. "Just do me a favor and stop patronizing me about this crap. I'm not a freaking five-year-old."

Sam huffed a laugh and held up his hands. "Okay, I promise."

"Good," Dean said, relieved. He ate a little more and then handed the mug back to Sam. "Does this pass muster? I want to sleep again." He didn't want to admit how tired he really was, but he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

Sam obviously could tell though, and took mercy on him. "You ate so that's all that matters," he told him. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Give me a bell," Dean said as he shifted to a more comfortable spot on the bed.

"Yeah, no," Sam said quickly as he gathered up the mug. "And don't forget about Cas."

"I know," Dean murmured, but he was already falling asleep.

He was only vaguely aware of Sam tucking a blanket around his shoulders before he was out completely.

~~~~~~~~

Dean woke several hours later, feeling a little more human. He realized he had a lot of sleep to catch up on. He endured another round of soup for Sam's sake, managing a little more than before, and then when his younger brother left him to do some more research, giving him a meaningful look, Dean sighed and forced himself out of bed.

He was too tired to get dressed so he just pulled his robe on over his sleep clothes to stave off the chill of the bunker and headed slowly out of his room. He was still a bit light-headed when he stood for too long, but figured a few more days of Sam's forced feeding and he would be better. The blood loss probably didn't help that either, he realized. He glanced toward the corner of his room he had woken up in the night before, with Sam begging him to stop cutting himself. He shuddered and leaned against the doorjamb for a moment, but he quickly shook it off. He had a job to do, and he couldn't think of his own issues right now.

He slowly made his way down the hall and stopped at Cas' closed door. He stood there for a few long seconds before he knocked, and opened it a crack.

"Hey, Cas, can…can I come in?"

The angel was sitting on the bed with Dean's laptop and he started slightly when the door opened, but he took a deep breath to compose himself and nodded, jerkily. "Y-yes, of course, Dean."

Dean bit his lip and entered the room before he could decide to beat a hasty retreat. He left the door open though, thinking Cas might feel better having a clear exit in view, not wanting him to feel boxed in.

"Whacha watching?" Dean asked, peering at the laptop screen and raising his eyebrows. "Star Trek?"

Cas shrugged, and reached over to turn the show off, closing the laptop. "It's…entertaining."

Dean had to nod in agreement, and then said, "You mind if I sit down?"

"Of course," Cas said quickly as he shifted his legs slightly to give Dean more room. Dean didn't miss the fact that there had already been plenty of room for him to sit without touching Cas, but he didn't say anything. He lowered himself carefully to sit on the side of the bed, his wounded arm resting in his lap. He noticed Cas' gaze fall on it, even though he couldn't see the bandages under his sleeve.

Dean wet his lips and turned toward Cas, deciding to just jump in. "Look, Cas. I know we have a lot to talk about. We've…the last few weeks have been hard. For both of us. And I know I screwed up a lot."

Cas looked at him with some sympathy. "I don't think you were the only one. Dean."

Dean huffed a short sardonic laugh and looked down at his lap. "Yeah, I'm not so sure about that."

There was silence for a few seconds, both of them not quite sure what to say and Dean closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath. "Talk to me, Cas. We've both got our issues here and neither of us has dealt with them properly. And just…tell me how it really is. I promise I won't get angry."

Cas looked down at his hands where he was playing with the edge of a blanket. "I'm not afraid of you getting angry, Dean. It's just…what you've been through these past weeks, because of me…"

"Hey," Dean cut in, shaking his head firmly. "It was not because of you."

"But you feel guilty because of my reactions; I can see it, and you shouldn't," Cas insisted, a pained expression on his face. "I know it was the Mark that made you…do what you did, that it wasn't you. It's just….hard for me, right now, to recognize the difference."

Dean nodded. "I get that."

"And I don't blame you," Cas added quickly.

"Well, you have every right to," Dean said grimly, swallowing hard. "I mean, I beat the crap out of you, man. I…I left you there—I didn't even care, Cas." His voice hitched and he had to stop.

He heard Cas breathing deeply for a few seconds before he said, softly. "You care now, and the Mark is gone, Dean."

Dean lightly touched his arm over the bandage. "I still feel it," he said quietly. "I remember what it was like. The uncontrollable rage, the power that went along with it….Hell, I'm surprised I didn't do more damage."

"I know what that feels like," Cas said in practically a whisper and cleared his throat. "That spell…it tore into me, made me feel nothing but hate and rage. It scared me, but I needed the blood. What I did, what I might have done to anyone who got in my way. How I tore into those angels—"

"They tortured you, Cas," Dean said simply.

"But what I did to you," Cas added, closing his eyes. "If Rowena hadn't stopped me when she did…" He shook his head, taking another deep breath. "And then you wouldn't let me heal you."

Dean's stomach clenched at the pain still obvious in Cas' voice. "I'm sorry if that bothered you, I just…I thought we should be even."

"You thought you deserved it," Cas offered with wry understanding, looking up to meet Dean's eyes. "But no one deserves to have their friends hurt them like that."

Dean swallowed hard. "That goes for you too, Cas."

The angel opened his mouth but Dean shook his head. "No, don't you dare say anything about that penance crap to me again. You don't think you deserve the same thing as me? I mean, hell, we've both done a ton of bad things, but at least you try to do better, I never even seem to think about it. I just always seem to dig myself deeper."

Cas ducked his head again, still not saying anything.

Dean bit his lip, thinking hard about what he wanted to say before he opened his mouth again. "Look, Cas. I know I don't say this to you enough, but you're like a brother to Sam and I—you are our brother—you're family. And I know we don't always make sure you know that, but I really want you to remember that from now on. I know you're hurting and I know a lot of it is because of me, and I also know that kind of crap doesn't just go away, I mean, hell, do I ever know." He swallowed hard, wetting his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "But it's also possible to work through it if you have people to lean on. And I know it's hard to accept that sometimes, but family is always there for you, Cas. And you're never a burden to family."

Cas looked back up at him, his eyes slightly wet, as he took a steadying breath, a look of what could only be gratitude in his eyes. "I think of you and Sam as my brothers too," he said quietly.

Dean offered him a small but genuine smile. "Good, now just remember that there's nothing you can do that will make us throw you out. Not this time. Not ever again," he added firmly, his heart twinging as he remembered when he had thrown a newly human Cas out into the world without any help whatsoever. That was something he would never forgive himself for.

Cas took a shuddering breath. "And I promise that if I…freak out…it doesn't mean I actually think you're going to hurt me," he said sincerely.

"I know that, Cas," Dean told him. "Just, don't feel bad to tell me if you need me to give you space or whatever. Or…if you just need to talk it out."

"You too, Dean," Cas said firmly. His eyes went to Dean's arm again before he hesitantly looked back up to meet Dean's eyes. "Dean…"

"Yeah, Cas?" Dean asked.

"Would you… let me heal you this time?" the angel asked softly.

Dean swallowed hard, putting a hand over his wound. Part of him wanted to refuse, keep this as a reminder to him of how far he allowed himself to go at the expense of those he cared about. But the look on Cas' face, practically pleading with Dean to agree, changed his mind. He was done causing Cas any more distress, even if he still wasn't sure he didn't deserve the pain.

He looked up at Cas and nodded. "Alright."

Cas looked relieved and took Dean's arm as he held it out. He carefully pushed up his sleeve and took off the bandage before hovering his hand over the wound, a glow emanating from his palm. Dean gritted his teeth as he could feel the flesh mending itself back together. Cas was still low on mojo, but he didn't want to let on that it hurt either.

When Cas pulled his hand away, Dean looked down to see smooth flesh, no scars at all. He looked up at Cas and the angel looked a little less tense.

"Thanks, Cas," he said quietly.

Cas shook his head. "Thank you for allowing me to help."

Dean smiled at him, and carefully reached out to put a hand on Cas' shoulder. The angel shifted slightly, but didn't flinch. "We'll get through this. The three of us. We'll get through it together like we always have. And when we're back on our feet, we'll gank the Darkness and then we are so taking a vacation."

Cas smiled at that. "I'd like that, I think."

Dean hesitated only a second before he said, "C'mere," and pulled Cas toward him, wrapping his arms around the angel in a firm embrace. Cas just sat there for a second before he brought his hands up to rest against Dean's back.

"I'm sorry for everything," Dean whispered as he felt Cas relax against him.

"So am I," Cas replied.

Dean didn't even care when their hug lasted so long it went way past chick-flick moment.

~~~~~~~

Sam had a feeling Dean was talking to Cas, and even though he didn't really want to interrupt, he also wanted to make sure no one was having a panic attack, so he crept down the hall of the dormitory ward and glanced into Cas' room.

Instead of someone cowering on the floor though, Sam was happy to see Dean pulling Cas into an embrace. Sam smiled and closed his eyes, breathing a silent sigh of relief as he leaned back against the wall for a moment. It seemed like things were finally looking up.

He didn't know if anyone was listening, but he said a prayer of thanks all the same.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days went moderately better now that Dean and Castiel had discussed their issues with each other. Of course, that didn't necessarily mean that everything was magically better. Castiel still had panic attacks when things set off the triggers in his mind, though he was getting better at controlling them or sometimes stopping them altogether with the relaxing techniques Sam had taught him. Even though they were still hard to deal with, it was easier to know that even if he had an episode because Dean walked into a room and startled him, he knew Dean didn't take that personally anymore. Of course there would always be the memories, for both of them, but they always talked about it afterward now, or sometimes Dean would just get him a hot drink and sit with him quietly until he got his nerves back in order.

Dean also was still having nightmares, sometimes bad ones. Castiel knew that Sam wasn't sleeping much or very deeply so that he could be up the instant Dean started to get restless. And none of them closed their bedroom doors now; that had been a silent agreement between them after Dean's episode with the knife. Sam wasn't going to let him have any sharp objects around while he slept either until he was fully recovered. Sometimes, Dean would simply get up and silently come to Castiel's room where he was usually watching things on Netflix to avoid sleeping, and Dean would pull a chair up to the bed and just sit and watch with him until one or the other of them fell asleep.

Castiel thankfully wasn't sleeping quite as much as he had been since his grace seemed to finally be healing, albeit sluggishly. It felt like there was even less of it than before. He had a feeling that if the spell had been allowed to reside within him any longer it would have taken his grace entirely and he would have burned out like a normal human would. He shuddered at that thought, but thankfully that was behind them.

But even though it was still a rough journey, Castiel was finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. The possibility of getting better. He had simply started to learn to control his body's issues instead of letting himself be controlled by them.

Of course, there was still one thing he hadn't worked on, something no one had brought up again, and that was his inability to leave the bunker.

The thought of going into the outside world still made him sick to his stomach and he had no idea what he was going to do about it. All he knew was that eventually he was going to have to go outside again, especially if he planned on helping the Winchesters fight this war against the Darkness, but those thoughts just settled like a deep dread in the pit of his stomach, as he silently hoped he would never have to face it.

Of course, that was ridiculous. He couldn't very well stay in the bunker for the rest of his existence, which, as an angel, would be very, very long.

So one day, he decided he'd had enough of his cowardice and made his way toward the stairs with the best of intentions to get up them.

Of course, when thinking of doing something was even still so hard, he should have known that actually trying it would be worse.

By the time he got to the base of the stairs his bravado had given out, and no sooner had he put his foot on the bottom step, did his whole body start to shake uncontrollably. He tried to take deep breaths, and do Sam's counting trick and managed several more steps, but by then the memories were crashing through his mind, and he could hardly see what was in front of him because of it.

_The feeling of the spell as it burned through his veins, the want, the need to kill, to draw blood. Crowley was the only one there, and the demon would be his first victim to sate the bloodlust. He surged forward, blade raised before he slammed it into the demon's back…._

Castiel gasped out, pain smarting in his knees and he realized he had stumbled on the stairs, striking his knee on the edge of one. But the pain only stopped the visions for a second and then they were back.

_His mad race across the countryside. He killed the dog because he had to, he told himself. He couldn't be found by people because he knew they would meet the same fate. But that didn't mean he didn't enjoy the smell of the dog's blood as it seeped into the earth. When Ephrim and Jonah caught him and chained him up he was almost glad because he wouldn't be forced to hurt anyone, but then they tortured him, and it made him angrier and angrier. And when they hurt Hannah…he may have been angry she betrayed him, but he had never wanted her dead. So he killed Ephrim and Johan, just two more of his brethren with their blood on his hands. But he had never enjoyed it quite so much as this time…_

"Cas?"

Castiel heard the voice as if from far away. Sounding worried, heavy boots clanked up the first couple stairs. He tried to orient himself, but was unable to. The voice…he knew it, and it brought back memories that he really didn't want to revisit.

_The hunter had kept him from his prey, so now he would pay the price. Castiel's blood was even hotter now, so in need of blood he hardly registered that the man he was beating into the ground was a friend. Something akin to a brother. All he wanted was to feel the blood flow from a broken body. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had done this before with someone else controlling his hands but he wasn't that person any more. No, he wasn't that weak. This time he would do it of his own accord…_

"Cas! Hey, man, you're okay, look at me!"

He wanted to, but he was already moving to the next vision, the one he didn't want to see. He curled in on himself as if that could make any difference.

_He knew he had to stop Dean. Dean wasn't himself, and he was very, very dangerous. Castiel knew how it would end, he just hoped that by some small miracle, he would be able to stop his dear friend, because if Dean went after Sam…that one he would never survive. And Sam could never stop Dean so Castiel had to be the one to do it. But then he realized just how outmatched he was as he tried to stop Dean and reason with him. The Mark would not be reasoned with, and it was controlling Dean mind and body now. Castiel felt his wrist crack, the lead-heavy fist smash into his face. Countless other blows that tore into him, breaking as they went. His vessel was leaking blood and felt like a sack of bones. But worst of all was that he knew he couldn't stop Dean, that he had failed, and that he had allowed his friend to become this monster…_

Something cold and wet startled him out of his vision. He gasped and his eyes finally came open to actually see what was surrounding him. Dean was crouching in front of him with a worried expression and an empty glass of water. Castiel frantically looked down at his right arm, but saw only clean, unscarred skin under his shirtsleeve, and he relaxed slightly, knowing he was back to the present.

"Cas?" Dean asked cautiously. "You good now?"

Castiel took several shuddering breaths and slumped against the stair railing in defeat. "I—I still can't do it." It was even more depressing when he realized that he had only gotten about eight steps up before he couldn't go any further.

Dean gave him a sympathetic look and climbed up a few more steps so he could sit beside Castiel. He set the empty glass aside and Castiel was suddenly aware of water dripping from his face, wetting the t-shirt he was wearing. He wiped it off as well as he could, concentrating on that instead of the thoughts still wanting to take precedence in his mind.

"Talk to me, Cas," Dean said, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees so he could see Castiel's face.

"I still can't do it," Castiel repeated.

"Hey, forget that for a second," Dean told him. "I think what you need to figure out is why you can't."

"Because the…flashbacks…they get so much worse," Castiel said miserably, resting his head against the hard metal railing and closing his eyes.

"What do you see?" Dean asked him.

"Everything," Castiel replied miserably. "Just…altogether."

Dean nodded slightly, silent for a few seconds. "Why do you think that is, Cas?" he finally asked. "Why do you think it gets worse when you try to leave the bunker? Why does it make a difference?"

"I don't know," Castiel whispered.

"I think you do," Dean said softly, in no way accusing. "Otherwise it wouldn't bother you so much."

Castiel took a deep breath and tried to think of why. After a few seconds he realized it was actually pretty obvious.

"I think it's because…because I'm afraid of what could happen. Of what I could do."

Dean frowned. "Cas, you're not under the spell anymore, you know that. It won't happen again."

"But it did happen once," Cas said wretchedly, turning to look at Dean. "Dean, what Rowena did to me, it wouldn't have been possible if I had all my grace. I am a liability to you and Sam. If I will only cause you more harm in the long run, then what good am I?"

Dean actually looked taken aback. "Cas…That's not…"

"It is true, Dean and you know it!" Castiel looked away from him again, embarrassed by the wetness that obscured his vision. "I'm supposed to be able to protect you, but I can't seem to do that anymore. In fact, I only seem to be able to make it worse. So I—I can't go out because I think I'm afraid of getting you two killed."

Dean was silent for a moment and Castiel had the defeated notion that the hunter was finally agreeing with him, but then he felt a hand fall onto his shoulder and squeeze slightly.

"Cas, look at me," Dean said firmly. Castiel reluctantly turned to him and it wasn't until then that Dean continued. "First of all, don't you dare think you're worthless, a liability, to us. You know the same things can happen to Sam and I, and have. You may not have all your mojo anymore but that doesn't make you any less valuable to us. What have Sam and I been trying to tell you these past few weeks? You're family. Nothing else matters, Cas." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. "And I know…I know it's been rough. And I know we've treated you like crap in the past and probably were the ones who made you feel like a burden in the first place, but Sam and I already decided to start over, with a lot of things, and we want you to be one of those. You're our brother, Cas. We'll always be there for you, whether you're an angel, a human, or whatever. We just…don't want to lose you."

Castiel's chest warmed at the words, and he wasn't sure how to reply to that. He wasn't sure words would ever really be enough for all the Winchesters had done for him. Of course they'd had their rough patches, but his observations of Sam and Dean over the years told him that too was just part of being family. Maybe what he really needed was to start over too, and doing it with Sam and Dean was better than he could have ever hoped for.

"Thank you," was all he could manage and it was hardly enough, but he tried to convey everything he really wanted to say with a look and Dean smiled slightly in understanding. The hunter's arm slipped around his shoulders and stayed there for a moment, a comfortable weight, before he said, "How about we get off these stairs?"

The former issues came back to Castiel and he realized that he didn't want to be there any longer. That was still going to be a process. He sighed heavily and allowed Dean to help him up.

"Do you…do you think I'll ever be able to go outside again?" he asked softly.

"I think that's up to you, and you alone, Cas," Dean told him. "But Sam and I are here to help you if you need it. And I want you to know that no matter how long it takes, or what you have to do to get there, we'll support you."

"Okay," Castiel whispered, overcome with gratitude for this man, this human, who had taken it upon himself to actually care for a fallen angel, and go so far as to call him family. He wasn't sure he deserved it, but maybe the fact that they did feel that way about him was enough to make him realize he did. Maybe the fact they cared for him the way he cared for them was enough to make him feel worthy.

He suddenly turned to Dean then, stopping their progress. "Dean, thank you for doing all this for me, for helping with…my problems. I know it hasn't always been easy but I am grateful."

Dean smiled at him. "Well, Sam's been doing most of it, but I'm glad I could help too. I…think it's kind of helped me out as well."

Castiel looked at him in surprise. "Really?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, once I actually thought about it, I realized avoiding each other was obviously making it worse. Don't tell Sammy, but he was right."

Castiel smiled slightly and Dean motioned for the kitchen. "And that is officially the end of the chick flick moments for today. How about a sandwich?"

Castiel followed him to the kitchen to make lunch, and felt slightly better than he had for quite a while. Even if it would take him more time to be able to work through his issues and leave the bunker, he at least knew he had two people to support him through it, and he was beginning to realize that sometimes that really was enough.

~~~~~~~

Several days passed, and Castiel hadn't tried to leave the bunker again, even though he knew that it would probably help to try it every day. He just…didn't really want to have any more flashbacks right now.

Besides, he had been helping a lot with researching the Darkness, and even though they still hadn't found much of anything, there was still a lot to look through and they were hoping for a breakthrough soon.

Then one morning, Sam came to the library with his laptop to show Dean and Cas a news article he had found.

"Is it the Darkness?" Dean asked hopefully.

"No," Sam admitted as he turned the computer toward Dean and Cas. "But it looks like it might be a case. Actually, it definitely is."

"Exsanguinated bodies, strange bite marks," Dean read the report. "Definitely vampy."

"Yeah, probably a nest judging by the number of bodies that have dropped," Sam replied grimly. "It's only a couple counties away, I thought I could run over and take care of it."

"Um, excuse me, don't you mean we?" Dean countered, raising an eyebrow.

Sam shifted slightly. "I didn't know if you were up for it."

Dean glared at him. "Dude, I've gone into the field worse off than I am now. You've been stuffing food in my face for a week and stole all my hard liquor, I think I'm good for a damn vamp hunt." He closed the book he had been looking through and rubbed at his eyes. "Besides, all this book work is making me crazy, and there's no way in hell I'm gonna let you go after a whole vamp nest alone."

Sam huffed, but nodded. "Fine, you're right. But…" He turned to Castiel hesitantly. "Cas, you gonna be okay here?"

Castiel felt a slight flutter of regret and annoyance that he wouldn't be able to go with them unless he could make himself leave the bunker—which probably wasn't going to happen before the end of the day. "I'll be fine, Sam. I can keep researching here."

"Okay," Dean told him. "It shouldn't take us more than two—three days to track them down and gank them. We'll check in too, to see how you're doing, promise."

"Alright, just…be careful," Castiel said, his stomach forming knots already. He knew Sam and Dean had done this hundreds of times, a lot of it without him too, but at the same time, the idea that he wouldn't be there because he couldn't leave the bunker…that made it different for some reason.

"We'll be fine," Dean assured him, as he stood up. "Let's pack. We can leave in thirty."

Castiel watched as the brothers gathered their duffle bags and took them out to the garage to be loaded into the Impala. Sam looked up at the angel as he opened the passenger door.

"Just remember, Cas, call us if you need anything."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, looking over the top of the car. "We'll only be a couple hours away so if you need us to come back for any reason, don't be afraid to ask, okay?"

Castiel felt a surge of gratitude wash through him. He knew he wouldn't call them back for his own issues, knowing how dangerous a half-finished hunt could be, but the fact that they offered meant a lot. "Thank you. But I will be all right as long as I'm here. You two be careful."

"We will," Sam assured him and slid into the car. Dean climbed in behind the wheel and the Impala's engine rumbled to life. Castiel stepped back and watched as Dean drove out of the garage, on the way to the hunt. He stayed there for a few seconds before he turned around and headed back into the bunker.

The whole place seemed almost eerie and too quiet without the brothers, but Castiel tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of being alone and went to make himself a cup of tea. It was funny, a couple weeks ago, he probably wouldn't have minded being left alone to suffer in silence, but now, he had to admit it really did help to have people to offer support and be there if you needed them. But his flashbacks had finally been getting less frequent, and as long as he didn't have to go outside, he figured he would be fine.

He continued researching for a while, setting aside several more books that didn't offer any useful information. Sam sent him a text when they got to their destination and then Dean sent him one later when they checked into a motel for the night, giving a quick update on the information they had found out. Thankfully it still looked like just a simple vampire hunt.

Castiel finally stopped researching as it got later and went to Sam's room to watch Netflix. He had come to realize he shouldn't hide behind the fake dramas as much as he had been before, and had noticed Sam helping him find other things to do with his time, but with no one else there, it was nice to have some background noise, so he watched several episodes of a sit-com before he drifted off sometime late in the night.

~~~~~~~~

Castiel woke to his phone ringing and shook the sleep from his head as he grabbed it from the bed beside him. He rubbed his eyes, wondering when he would stop needing sleep again. He saw it was nine in the morning and Sam was calling.

He pressed 'answer' and put the phone to his ear. "Sam?"

"Hey, Cas, how are you doing?" the younger Winchester asked.

"I'm fine," Castiel replied, sitting up. "Have you and Dean found the nest yet?"

"We got some leads on where we think it might be," Sam replied. "We were waiting until daylight to check it out. If everything goes well, we should be back by tonight."

"Alright, keep me updated," Castiel told him.

"Sure. We'll make sure to let you know when we're heading back."

Castiel said goodbye and ended the call. He got out of bed and stretched, then went to the kitchen to make some coffee. He hoped Sam and Dean would be able to finish the hunt that day. He didn't really like to admit it, but he wasn't exactly enjoying being in the bunker alone.

The day went on, and he did more research. He got one text from Dean around noon saying they were following a different lead now but should still be done before tonight. Castiel continued researching for the rest of the afternoon but no more updates came from either Winchester. He wanted to call, but was worried he might interrupt their hunt. Maybe it had been harder than they realized.

Still, when they didn't call or text by seven that night, Castiel was really starting to get worried. He checked his text messages to see if he had missed anything, and then sent one to Sam How is the hunt going? Are you still coming back tonight? When he got no reply, he sent the same to Dean wondering if maybe Sam's phone had died or been damaged during the hunt as was wont to happen. But again, there was no reply.

Castiel paced nervously, knuckles pressed against his mouth as he wondered what he would do. He tried calling both phones but only got their voicemails. He had a feeling something was very wrong, but had no idea what he was going to do about it. He glanced toward the stairs and a cold sweat broke out over his neck and shoulders. Even if he did manage to get out of the bunker, he wouldn't be any good if he could hardly see straight or get his breath through panic attacks. Perhaps he could call another hunter to check out the area. Maybe Jody Mills would help. But Jody was all the way in South Dakota; if Sam and Dean were in real trouble, she may not get to them in time, and he couldn't stand the thought of her going in without backup either.

Or, perhaps Sam and Dean were on their way after all. Maybe they just forgot to call. Maybe their phones had been broken or something. Castiel didn't think that was a good explanation, but he realized that there could be other possibilities.

He called them each one more time, then finally decided that he would give them the night, and figure out what to do in the morning. Maybe Sam and Dean would show up between then and now and laugh at him for worrying. He really hoped that would be the case.

So he huddled in Sam's bed, trying to distract himself with Netflix, but it wasn't working very well. Because deep down, he was sure he was leaving his friends in danger, and he was full of self-loathing that he couldn't overcome his issues and go save them.

~~~~~~~~

Dean woke up with a groan, swaying slightly. His neck and shoulders ached, and it didn't take him long to realize that he had been strung up, his hands manacled above his head. He forced his feet under him to relieve the strain a bit, but even then, his hands were hoisted so high, that only the balls of his feet were touching the ground.

He looked around the dark place—recognizing the old barn that they had tracked the vamps to—and saw another dark figure swinging next to him.

"Sam," he hissed. "Sammy, wake up."

The other figured stirred and groaned. Dean winced in sympathy as Sam went through the same motions he had and then craned his neck to look at Dean.

"D'n?" he croaked and cleared his throat. "That you?"

"Yeah," Dean grunted, testing out the manacles that held him, but couldn't get a good enough position to even see if he would be able to pick them—providing he had a lockpick and hands that weren't numb, of course.

"They jumped us," Sam said in disgust.

"Yeah, but there were more than we bargained for," Dean said, rattling his chains again. He shivered slightly as a cold night breeze rattled through the derelict barn. The vamps had taken their coats and flannels, leaving them only in their t-shirts, though he could see their clothes piled on the table a few feet away along with their weapons and their phones.

As he watched, one of their phones lit up, the vibrations from the ringer moving it slightly across the table.

"Dammit," Dean muttered. "Cas is probably wondering where the hell we are. I texted him hours ago."

"Yeah, and I said we would probably be back tonight," Sam replied wryly.

"We gotta get out of here," Dean said, renewing his struggles as well as he could. "Cas still can't leave the bunker. What's he gonna do if the vamps suck us dry?"

"This isn't the worst place we've been stuck," Sam admitted. "We may be able to find a way out."

"I wouldn't count on that, handsome."

Dean looked over to the open door of the barn where the vampires were trooping in. He groaned. It had only been when he and Sam had shown up to their hideout that they figured out there were six of them and they were all—rather attractive—females. Apparently they had been working the bars in town, luring men to their deaths to feed the nest.

"It's not every day hunters are clumsy enough to get caught," said the leader of the nest, an older, middle-aged, brunet woman, who stood off to one side with her arms folded over her chest as the other vampires turned on several lanterns to provide some light to the room.

"Well, we just wanted to make sure to give you the pleasure," Dean told her with a defiant smirk. "Bet you won't be able to stomach us thought."

She smiled and strode over to Dean, reaching up to grab his chin tightly, as she angled his head down so he would look at her.

"I guess we'll just have to take that chance."

Her fangs were in Dean's neck before he could react. He heard Sam shout, but was a little preoccupied by the pain ripping through him up to the top of his head and down to his shoulder. He couldn't help a yelp as her fangs slid out of his flesh none-too-gently, and blood trickled down his neck into the collar of his shirt. The vampire leaned in and licked the blood off his skin, making him shudder before she smirked up at him.

"No, it's perfectly edible." She turned to the other vampires who were huddled around, looking ravenous, just waiting for the fresh blood the two hunters would provide. "Enjoy your meal, sisters," she told them.

Sam and Dean didn't even have the chance to fight before they were taken from all sides and felt the fangs sink into their skin.

~~~~~~~

It wasn't even dawn, but Castiel had had enough. He checked his phone again in some vain hope that there would be a text or missed call from the Winchesters, but there was nothing, and he could no longer pretend that they were just late. They must be in trouble and Castiel knew he was the only one who could help them.

I can't leave, he cried internally, but he would have to. There was no other way. He didn't know anyone who would be quick enough. The only other contact on his phone was Crowley and he doubted the demon would bother to help rescue the Winchesters from some vampires. No, he would have to do this on his own. He would have to push through his crippling mental issues and just go.

But first he had to know where he was going. He knew he could get to the town, but knowing where Sam and Dean were would be the problem. And then he remembered how Sam had taught him to track a cell phone when they were looking for Dean.

Dean had left his laptop for Cas in case he needed it for research, so he quickly pulled up the tracking site Sam had shown them and searched for their phone numbers.

Both were thankfully at the same location—he just hoped the brothers were there as well. The GPS showed a spot outside of the town, and Castiel figured this must be the vampire nest. Even more anxiety than he felt before clutched at his insides. How long had Sam and Dean been there? Were they captured? Hurt? Worse? He had to calm his breathing down in order to think, but there really wasn't much else to think about. Sam and Dean obviously needed help and he had to go after them.

He wrote down the address of the location and went to his room. He dressed for the first time in weeks in his normal clothes, finally pulling on the trench coat that had been left lying over the back of his desk chair for so long. Finally, he picked up his angel blade from the desk and tucked it into his coat. He just stood there for a long minute, trying to collect himself, and then bit his lip and turned toward the door to his room.

He strode quickly to the war room, but still hesitated when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Come on," he muttered aloud to himself. He gripped the railing and started up them, his whole body shaking. His knuckles whitened on the railing as the metal bit into his hand. His vision swam slightly, but he stopped and took several deep breaths, and then kept his mind on the job at hand. Sam and Dean needed him. His family needed him. They hadn't abandoned him when he needed them most and he certainly wouldn't do that to them.

Castiel gripped the railing tighter and then growled deep in his throat before forcing his legs into motion and surging up the rest of the stairs. He stared at the door for a long moment, taking more deep breaths, and then with a final scream of frustration, he reached out and ripped it open.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel gasped in the pre-dawn glow, the chill of the outside air making him shiver more than he already was. He stood for a moment, eyes closed as he forced himself to breathe, reminding himself of his mission, and also of the fact that he had done it! He had finally left the bunker.

"I did it," he reminded himself out loud. "Everything will be okay."

Then with a herculean effort, he pulled himself together and made his way to the old truck Sam had left parked outside the bunker. He slipped inside and found the keys kept in the sunscreen and started the vehicle. He turned the GPS on his phone to the address of the abandoned barn and set off down the road.

He still had to remind himself to breathe, and he was shaking uncontrollably, making driving a bit difficult, but he had done it. He was out of the bunker and he was on his way to rescue the Winchesters.

Several miles down the road he began to feel a little better, less shaky. He continually reminded himself that nothing catastrophic had happened yet, that he was going to rescue Sam and Dean, and there was nothing that was going to stop him, especially himself.

He knew he was driving way over the speed limit, but thankfully it was still early and no one was out on the highway.

By the time he got to the town the vampire attacks had been happening in, the sun was up and the businesses were opening for the day. Castiel figured this was the best time to get a jump on the vampires, knowing they would probably be asleep or soon would be.

The GPS took him to the abandoned barn and he pulled up and stopped the truck down the drive from it so as not to give himself away. He could see some lights flickering in the barn, and hoped he had the right place. Even more, he hoped that Sam and Dean were still alive.

He took out his angel blade, holding it ready, and crept toward the barn. When he got to the door, he peeked through one of the holes that had been made as the barn started falling apart. He could hear the murmur of voices and some groaning, and as he caught sight of the occupants in the barn, his breath caught in his throat.

There were several women, standing in the middle of the room, surrounding two figures who seemed to be chained up. Even in the dim light, Castiel could tell that the captives were Sam and Dean. One of the vampires had her fangs in Dean's neck while the others taunted him. Sam was slumped in his chains, probably unconscious. Castiel gripped his angel blade tighter, not willing to wait another minute. He would attack them while they were distracted.

He slammed the door open, startling the vampires as he stormed in. One of them threw herself at him, but he took her down easily and severed her head. The other one screamed as the vampire occupied with Dean's blood finally turned around, hissing angrily.

"How dare you?" she demanded coming toward Castiel with vengeance in her eyes.

That was when he saw three more vampires come out of the shadows, drowsy, but furious. Castiel began to realize he had come rather ill-prepared.

"Stay away from them," he growled at the vampires.

The woman who had been feeding on Dean laughed, her mouth coated in the hunter's blood. "They came to kill us. We were entitled."

"But you had already killed many people," Castiel said, noting how the vampires were surrounding him. "I think it's fair, don't you?"

"I had to feed my sisters," the vampire said firmly.

"Who you turned yourself, I'm sure," Castiel said blandly. "There is nothing about that that isn't cruel."

"Well, thanks to your friends, and now you, we won't go hungry for a while. Get him girls!" she screamed.

Castiel braced himself as the remaining vampires attacked him. He stabbed one, and tried to smite another, but his grace still wasn't at full capacity, so all it earned him was a blow to the ribs and another to his face that sent him reeling backwards to crash into the table. One of the lanterns fell to the ground, casting long shadows in the barn, but something else clattered to the ground along with him. A machete, likely taken from the Winchesters.

He came up swinging with a determined growl and took another vampire in the neck. The body and head fell separately, and he surged forward to take out the remaining ones. The one he had wounded earlier was first, and now he only had three more.

That was when one got behind him, and smashed the lantern into his head. Stars burst behind Castiel's eyes and he collapsed to his knees. The three vampires were on him before he could react, grabbing him and throwing him into a chair and holding him down, even as he struggled. He grunted, reminded of how weak he still was. The head vampire strode over to him and slapped him across the face, before gripping his throat.

"I will enjoy killing you," she snarled, and Castiel cried out as she darted forward and sank her fangs into his throat.

It only lasted a second though before she jerked away with a scream, a hand clapping over her mouth.

"Valerie?" one of the other vampires asked, stepping toward her in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"What are you?" the head vampire demanded of Castiel, fury and pain in her eyes. "You're blood…"

"I'm an angel of the Lord," He told her and kicked out at the vampire closest to him before he leapt from the chair and grabbed the machete from the floor again. He made swift work of the three remaining vampires and soon they were all lying beheaded on the floor at his feet. He was breathing heavily, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind whether the bloodlust would come back. But he didn't feel it. The curse was gone, and he didn't have to worry about that anymore. He winced and put a hand to his neck. It came away smeared in red.

A moan came from Sam and Dean's direction and Castiel looked up to see Sam stirring. He quickly searched the pile of stuff from the overturned table for the key, and then hurried over to unlock the manacles chaining the Winchesters up.

"Sam," he said, hoping the younger hunter would be lucid enough to help him with Dean who looked completely unconscious. Sam's eyes fluttered open as Castiel started to unlock his manacles and Sam started in surprise.

"Cas?" he asked. "Is that you?"

Castiel released one of Sam's hands and had to steady him so he wouldn't put all his weight on the other. "Yes."

"But…how?" Sam asked, wincing.

"I didn't hear from you and Dean and I knew something must have happened, so I…came to find you."

"But Cas, you left the bunker," Sam exclaimed.

Castiel nodded. "I had to find you. I did what I had to."

"Cas, that's great," Sam said with a tired, but genuine smile as Castiel got his last manacle undone and helped lower Sam to the ground. The younger Winchester groaned and raised an awkwardly numb hand to his neck. Castiel gently pushed it aside to inspect the wounds. There was one bitemark, but it looked like more than one vampire had drunk from it; the flesh of Sam's neck raw and torn.

"That looks painful. How much blood do you think you lost?" he asked worriedly.

Sam grunted. "Not sure. All the…feeding…was kinda hazy. Dean's worse off though, they drank more from him because he pissed them off."

Castiel gave a long-suffering sigh as he went to unchain the elder Winchester. Dean was still unconscious so when he unlocked the manacles, Castiel only barely was able to wrap an arm around his chest before Dean faceplanted on the floor, a deadweight. He lowered him down and Sam moved the few feet to inspect his brother.

Castiel was relieved to see Dean's eyes flutter. The hunter moaned, his face contorted with pain.

"Hey," Sam said, gripping his brother's shoulder, as he settled Dean's head against his knee. "Dean, you awake?"

"Unhh," Dean groaned as Castiel knelt beside him.

"Dean," he said worriedly, anxiety welling up inside of him.

Dean's eyes opened then and he frowned in confusion. "Cas?" he slurred.

"I'm here, Dean," he replied, putting a hand on the hunter's wrist.

"Y'got outta th' bunker," Dean said, a small smile flitting over his lips. "Goo' for you." His eyes slid shut then and he settled more heavily against Sam.

"Dean, hey," Sam said softly, patting Dean's cheek. Castiel was trying to check Dean's pulse in his wrist, wondering if it would make a difference that his hands probably hadn't gotten the circulation going again. He pressed his hand to Dean's chest to feel his heartbeat as well to make sure, and either way, his pulse was weak and thready, not to mention the fact that Dean's skin was cold to the touch.

"I think he's going into shock," Sam said, looking up at Castiel frantically. "We need to get him to a hospital."

"Both of you need to get to a hospital," Castiel told him firmly as he stood up and started to gather the brothers' jackets, spreading Dean's across his upper body to preserve some body heat. "I saw one when I drove through town."

"Good, because you're gonna have to drive," Sam told him, and reached into the pocket of Dean's coat to pull out the Impala's keys. "We left the Impala a little further down the road."

Castiel hurried out and retrieved the Impala, parking it as close to the barn as he could before opening the back door and going inside to help the brothers to the car. Sam could just barely get his feet under him, and Castiel had to practically drag him to the car before he went back for Dean. He simply hoisted the elder hunter up in a fireman's carry because he was a deadweight, but Sam was able to help position him comfortably in the backseat of the Impala, letting Dean rest his head in his lap as Castiel grabbed a blanket and tucked it over Dean.

Then he shut the door and hurried to the driver's seat, pressing down on the gas and letting the Impala tear down the country road on their way back into town.

It wasn't until Sam and Dean were admitted into the emergency room and Castiel was left to wait anxiously in the waiting area that he even thought of the fact he was outside of the bunker. For the first time since he was cured of Rowena's spell. The oddity of the idea, and the discomfort struck him finally, now that the adrenaline of saving the Winchesters had worn off, and he had to close his eyes and take several deep breaths in order not to have a panic attack. Apparently it hadn't been a miracle fix after all. He would probably still suffer some issues for a while, but he had still taken a big step in his recovery and there was something to be said for that.

"Sir, are you okay?"

He looked up with a start and saw the pretty young woman he had seen earlier at the reception desk. For a brief moment, his mind flashed to the image of the woman he had chased into the warehouse when under the spell, and how he had almost choked the life out of her. But he was able to shake that off before it overcame him and tried to keep his voice steady as he answered, "I—I'm okay. Just…a little anxious about my friends."

She smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure someone will be out to give you an update soon. Would you like something hot to drink? The coffee machine is pretty terrible, but I could grab you a cup from the back room, or tea perhaps?"

Castiel smiled gratefully at her. "Tea would be nice, thank you."

"Sure," she smiled back and left Castiel with the stark white walls and dirty blue colored chairs and the occasional person walking down the hall, none of them with news for him. There weren't even any other people in the waiting room at the moment. Castiel clenched his hands in his lap and tried to stay calm. The last place he wanted to have a flashback was here when Sam and Dean would need him to help take care of them.

The receptionist came back to him with a Styrofoam cup of tea and a small package of cookies. "I thought you could use something sweet," she told him kindly and her eyes went to the wound on his neck, already scabbed over and mostly healed—it seemed that his grace was at least healing his body again. "Did anyone offer to see to your wound?"

"Oh," he felt slightly self-conscious. "It's nothing. It didn't even bleed a lot."

She looked like she wanted to ask what had done it, but seemed to decide against it. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

Castiel thanked her as she went back to the reception desk and he sipped the hot tea and nibbled on a couple of the cookies before a doctor came out and headed over to him. The same middle-aged woman who had met them when Castiel had brought Sam and Dean in. Castiel was on his feet instantly, almost spilling the tea.

"Sam and Dean, how are they?" he asked before she could even speak.

The doctor smiled at him kindly. "Don't worry, Mr. Novak, you're friends are stable and will probably be able to leave by tonight. Sam is awake if you would like to go sit with him."

"Thank you," Castiel said, following her. "And Dean?"

"He lost quite a bit of blood and we're still completing the transfusion. He'd started to go into shock but we're getting him back to normal and he should be waking up within a few hours."

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief as the doctor stopped at a door and opened it. "Here you go. I'll be back to let you know how Dean in soon."

Castiel entered and saw Sam propped up in bed, drinking some orange juice. He still looked a little pale, but not as bad as he had before. Though his eyes still had dark patches underneath them and there was a big patch of gauze taped to the side of his neck. He smiled as he saw Castiel though.

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel pulled a chair over to the bed and sat in it. "Sam. How are you?"

"Feeling better now," Sam assured him and motioned to the juice. "Trying to get some sugar in me. The doctor said I could probably get up in a couple hours. Maybe then we can go sit with Dean."

Castiel nodded, already feeling better to be with Sam and knowing both the brothers would be okay. Sam drank some more juice before he turned to Castiel again.

"How are you doing, Cas?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you know, with being out here."

Castiel shrugged slightly, his hands clenching in hem of his coat. "I'm not…fully back to normal, but I'm…surviving."

Sam offered a kind smile and reached out to touch Castiel's shoulder. "I think you'll be okay, Cas. And seriously, thanks for coming to the rescue. We really weren't sure that we were gonna get out of that one."

Castiel's chest tightened at the thought. "I guess…I guess the fear of losing you and Dean beat the fear I had about what might happen if I left the bunker," he admitted. He didn't want to think about how close he had come to losing them anyway. If he had only been an hour or two later, Dean probably would have been dead or very close to it.

"Well, thank you. We owe you."

Castiel shook his head. "No, you don't, Sam. After everything you've done for me, you owe me nothing. Besides, don't you keep saying that's what family does?"

Sam smiled and nodded. "Yeah, Cas. Exactly."

Castiel smiled slightly, thinking he finally understood how it felt to have a family again. Or, truly, for the first time ever. While he had loved his angelic brethren—some much more than others—there was still something about the unconditional bond of the family the Winchesters had invited him to share in that was nothing like what he'd had before. He didn't feel like he needed or owed anything, and that in itself made him feel warm and content. No matter how long it had taken him to finally figure that out.

He and Sam sat there talking, until the doctor came in to tell them Dean was awake and to check Sam's vitals. After she made sure he was doing okay, she allowed them to go sit with Dean in his room. Sam was still a little shaky, but he leaned on Castiel's shoulder and was able to get down the hall easily enough.

Dean didn't really look awake when they got into the room, but his eyes slitted open as they pulled chairs over to the bed, and the elder Winchester offered a small smile.

"Hey," he croaked, wincing as the act of talking probably pulled at the wounds on his neck. "You guys breaking me out yet?"

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "No way, dude. You need to stay here at least until you're lucid. But don't worry, the doc said if you show good progress you can go home tonight."

"Good," Dean said and shifted with a grunt. "Didn't get snacked on by vamps all night to sleep in a hospital bed." His eyes flicked to Castiel then. "Cas, I'm damn proud of you."

Castiel shrugged self-consciously. "Like I told Sam, it turned out to be the lesser of two evils. Or fears, in this case."

"Still, y'saved us," Dean told him firmly.

"Uh-oh, Dean must be getting loopy," Sam said with a grin and reached out to pull the blankets a little higher up around his brother's shoulders. "You should probably get some rest, jerk. Otherwise we're not going home tonight and I really want my bed too."

"Whatever, bitch," Dean mumbled but his eyes were already closing again and he soon slipped off to sleep.

Castiel stood with a small smile and turned to Sam. "I'll go get us both some coffee."

~~~~~~~

By late afternoon, Dean was feeling a lot better, and looked better too, not to mention he was eager to get out of the hospital. The doctor released them with some reluctance but said they were fine to go as long as Castiel drove. Dean was really not happy about that, but Castiel insisted that it was better than him falling asleep and driving the Impala off the road into a ditch or a tree. Dean wordlessly let him keep the keys.

They did stop at the store on the way back to the bunker and grabbed 'provisions' for the next few days, which Dean proclaimed were going to be a 'mini vacation' in celebration of Castiel's overcoming his fear of leaving the bunker and also because they needed a couple days to recuperate and Dean planned on spending them watching movies and eating bad food. Sam was too tired to do anything but agree and Castiel was just glad to see them taking it easy for a while.

Still, despite his breakthrough, he was extremely relieved to be back in the bunker. It still felt safe to him, but he realized that feeling never really had to change. It was safe to Sam and Dean too, because it was home; a home they had invited Castiel into. He decided he could adopt it as such himself. It was…comforting, to know that there was a physical place he could go that felt safe. Perhaps that was a human sentiment, but he didn't mind so much about that anymore.

"Alright," Dean said as they got inside with their food. "I'll cue up the movie and Sam, you and Cas can set out the snacks."

There was some light bantering as they moved around each other before settling onto the chairs and couch in their makeshift den at one side of the library. Sam had figured out how to hook up his laptop to the projector so they could watch movies on the 'big screen'.

Castiel settled onto one end of the couch and selected several of the snacks he and Sam had set out on the table while Dean made a beeline for the pie. Then they sat back and enjoyed the movie.

"This is fun," Dean said through a mouthful of pie. "Too bad we can't do this all the time."

"Only when we don't have to save the world," Sam said with a snort.

By the time the movie ended, it was late and Castiel was beginning to feel tired, probably from everything that had happened that day. He looked over to where Sam had been sitting on the other end of the couch and saw he was fast asleep. Castiel looked up at Dean who was watching his brother.

"Let him sleep," Dean said softly and got up to pull the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it gently over Sam's tall figure. "He's hardly slept at all for weeks. Looking after both of us…it's a wonder he hasn't run himself into the ground too," he added wryly as he beckoned Castiel to follow him, and they gathered up the snacks to bring back to the kitchen.

Castiel nodded in understanding. "The downtime is for Sam, isn't it?"

Dean smiled and shrugged. "How else is the kid gonna get any rest? Figure it can't hurt. A couple more days isn't gonna make it any easier for us to gank the Darkness unless some miracle happens. What's more important is getting everyone in working order."

Castiel agreed. "Whatever happens, I'll be there with you. I'm just glad that I'll be able to."

Dean smiled. "Me too, Cas. It's only the three of us left now and we need to stick together on this. I know we've messed up a hell of a lot because of family, but we've fixed a lot of things because of it too."

"Yes," Castiel said. "Thank you for everything you've done for me these past weeks. If it hadn't been for you and Sam…I don't think I would have survived this long."

Dean reached out and grasped his shoulder. "I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Cas. I mean, you took out a whole nest of vampires single-handedly. That's pretty badass."

Castiel huffed a laugh. "Well, it didn't look like you were going to do it."

Dean glared good-naturedly. "Touché. But, thanks, man." He shoved some food into the fridge and stifled a yawn.

"You should probably get some rest," Castiel told him.

"Thanks, mom," Dean snarked, but didn't protest. "I was about to hit the sack anyway. You probably should too, you look exhausted."

"I will," Castiel promised and then watched Dean bid him goodnight and make his way to the dormitory wing. Castiel looked in on Sam once more to make sure he looked comfortable before he followed.

Castiel changed into his sweat pants and t-shirt and settled into bed, pulling the blanket over top of him. He lay there for a minute, somewhat restless, and wondered if he should have asked Dean if he could borrow his laptop to watch Netflix on. But then he thought that maybe he shouldn't do that so much anymore. After all, it was about time he stopped hiding in fake realities and start trying to control his own a little better.

Instead, he turned to his desk and grabbed one of the books he had been reading and turned to the spot he had left off. He read a few chapters until his eyes started to close and then he set the book aside and turned off the light, curling up on his side in the bed. Before long he was fast asleep.

And for the first time since he'd been cursed, he didn't have a single nightmare.


End file.
